


Touched by Tom

by hobbeshalftail3469, LulaIsAKitten



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: AND SWEET, And he touched most of my upper body with his, And he touched my pen and book, Apparently Tom Burke on stage cures vertigo!, Based on a real trip to London, Bath has been substituted, But then the second night seats were a bargain, Corm and Robin will eventually realise they are more than friends, Even by my standards I couldn't get my head around Strike and Tom B!, F/M, Giggling, Google Maps lies...FACT!, I insisted!, I was just too melty puddle to notice!, Ilsa Nick Corm and Robin go off for an overnight hotel stay, Ilsa and Nick have a great marriage, It's basically a rather indulgent First Kiss!, Lula and Hobbes let loose in London!, Lula doesn't like heights, Lula's insisted!, Most of this REALLY DID HAPPEN!, Oh the complete joy of writing this!, Our Tumblr posse made it a complete joy!, Planning this fic was HILARIOUS, Plus Lula sees Nick as Tom Hiddleston!, RATING CHANGE FOR SMUTTY TIMES!, She did the Robin crawl!, Squeeeing, That's the attempt at plot bit and a reason for posting on here, The basic Cormoran and Robin link is pre relationship, There will be Nick and Ilsa nookie, There will be Robin and Corm nookie, They had sash windows and Lula did get locked out!, They will get together, Tom B really is delicious, Tom Hiddleston replaces Tom Burke, Tom really did touch Lula, Trailing around pubs, We did have adjoining rooms with a very narrow balcony between them, We have pictures to prove it!, We honsetly slept for about 7 hours 20 over 3 days, We really did only plan to go once, With a bit more thrown in...., and lovely, and sexy as!, we really did walk for fecking miles!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Ok, so HobbesisaKitten went on an amazing 2 night trip to London to watch Tom Burke in Rosmersholm and we had such a riot that we decided we had to write a fic.We spent a day slogging around various pubs trying to find 'THE' Tottenham....we got there eventually and decided we would have to come up with a joint fic in honour of us being in the Tottenham. We also went past loads of Strike related landmarks - Denmark Street, Soho Square, Hazlitts hotel, ten Tottenham from the Tv series and also the one where JK got her inspiration and describes in the books......it was wonderful.We watched Rosmersholm and met Tom at the stage door......behaved like teenagers until about 3am on our balconies and went back for a second watch!! We were in a box....very exciting....very high! and loved it all over again, and went back to see Tom again because we had turned to mush and forgot to get selfies the first time.So, having squee'd into the wee small hours and shared chats via social media with a group of other Tom fans we came up with this idea.We hope you enjoy it!





	1. It started so innocently!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [libraryv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/gifts), [Blue_Robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Robin/gifts), [under_my_blue_umbrella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_my_blue_umbrella/gifts).



It had started so innocently months earlier when Robin had messaged Ilsa that Tom Hiddleston was staring in some Ibsen play.  
They’d shared several slightly drunken conversations over how delightful his arse was and how much they would be tempted to bite it if ever he came within grabbing distance after he’d been in a TV thing that the pair had watched, messaged, rewound and paused certain scenes a multitude of times.  
So, the possibility of seeing him in the actual flesh was too good an opportunity to miss.

It was Ilsa who had gone onto the theatre website and identified what looked like amazing seats…..4 rows back – far enough to not get neck ache, close enough to hopefully smell him!

They’d shared a couple of ‘should we?’ texts, wondering whether an overnight trip to Bath to watch a guy in a play that they knew naff all about was something that was actually rather ridiculous, or rather wonderful….they’d eventually decided on the latter option, and when Ilsa had told Nick he’d actually been rather supportive, even suggested they make a ‘weekend’ of it and he’d come along…..although he’d pass on the whole Ibsen thing.

Over the monthly curry night the following week they had discussed it further and of course Strike had petulantly observed that he’d be stuck back in London as ‘Billy No Mates’ and it was Robin who had casually stated that he could book a room and come along too – that way he could keep Nick company.  
Strike had been a little reluctant initially, after a smoke outside during which Nick had casually pointed out that no doubt the girls would get a little squiffy and giggly over Tom Hiddleston…..especially if he plyed Ilsa with a couple of glasses of prosecco….he’d grudgingly agreed to come along; but only on the express reason of keeping Robin company so she didn’t end up playing gooseberry.

Nick had flashed him a rather irritating, but knowing eyebrow raise…..he was trying to hide his feelings towards Robin and very much trying not to let it affect what had turned into the best relationship with a female he’d ever had …..but Nick knew him too well. He didn’t push things, but after a few drinks in the pub over football it had been known for both of their tongues to loosen, and Nick recalled quite clearly one particular conversation when a dreamily, crinkle-eyed Strike had described how he’d almost licked her neck when she’d leaned over his desk to present him with a mug of ‘fucking perfect tea’!

And so it was that the four of them were on their way by train to Bath. 

Nick and Ilsa had shared an unashamedly romantic, or sickening, moment at Paddington Station – reminiscing about the times they had parted there when Ilsa had been returning to Cornwall.  
They had found ‘their bench’ – or at least the location of where it had been, which was now adjacent to a coffee bar – and spent several minutes snogging like teenagers whilst Cormoran and Robin queued for coffees.

“Now, aren’t you glad I’m tagging along? You playing gooseberry to that for 2 days wouldn’t have been particularly enjoyable…..and we haven’t technically left yet!” Strike grinned as he added about 8 of the tiny sugar sachets to his black coffee.

Robin gave a wistful look at her happily married friends; there was a time when she and Matthew had shared goodbyes like that……but in all honesty she was glad that was part of her history rather then her present or future.  
“Nick’ll have to make the most of her…..if she gets within licking distance of Tom Hiddleston she might strategically forget those wedding vows!”

“You mean you’d let her have ‘im? That’s not the Robin Ellacott I know and love!” he realised what he’d said a moment too late. “I just mean, if the Hiddleston is close enough to her, by definition he’d be close enough to you to….what was it? Squeee all over him?”

Robin shook her head and grabbed the lattes she’d ordered for herself and Ilsa, “Move it you!” she quipped as he grumbled after her, muttering humorously about the definition of squeezing; whether it was a verb or an adjective….masculine or feminine……whether it originated from Greek or Latin until they reached their platform and train.

They were due to arrive at just before 1 in the afternoon and the ladies had booked tickets for the matinee which started at 2.30pm.  
They had also booked themselves a restaurant for an early evening meal whilst Nick and Cormoran had decided to take advantage of the decent weather and the proximity of one of the World Cup Cricket matches being played between England and Pakistan at the Bath ground…..relaxing, almost comatose sporting activity accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol and the prospect of munching through hot, roasted pig on a bap had very much appealed to both men.

Robin had been a giggling bundle of excitement in the office recently – the play’s run had begun and from what he’d picked up from overheard conversations between her and Ilsa on a daily basis the cast had been coming out of the stage door after each performance, signing programmes and posing for selfies. It seemed that each day the pair would share the latest image and give it a rating depending upon what Tom was wearing, whether his hair and beard looked perfect, or too long, or too unruly, or just lickable.

Strike had found it amusing to see Robin so girlishly giggly over a mega star, and when he’d mentioned it to Nick he discovered that apparently Tom Hiddleston was top of Ilsa’s ‘list’ – ever since she’d seen his naked backside in some TV show they’d watched….and apparently he was also very worthy and all for female empowerment so that made lusting unashamedly after him acceptable by her logic!

Anyway, Nick had reliably informed Cormoran that as long as she came back to him in the hotel room and didn’t shout out Tom’s name in bed later he was more than happy, as she seemed ridiculously and quite charmingly enthusiastic about her little opportunity to ‘play hooky’ with Robin for the day!

The train arrived punctually and the hotel they had booked was only a short walk from the station according to Google Maps, so they made a relaxed quartet as they pulled small cases or in the case of Strike carried a battered, but clearly good quality leather holdall along the rather uneven paved streets of Bath.  
Their hotel was one of the older buildings situated on one of the curved, historic roads and featured ornate, cast-iron scrollwork balconies along the first floor.  
They had all booked separately, but Ilsa had sent a request to the hotel for all 3 rooms to be located close together if possible – and she knew that Corm had requested a balcony so that he could smoke…..although looking at them from street level now it looked like it might be a tight squeeze!

The check in process was efficient and Ilsa was pleased that not only had the hotel paid attention to her request, it had upgraded all rooms to have balconies so that they could have 3 adjacent rooms; Nick and Ilsa in number 15, Cormoran in 14 and Robin in number 13.  
They took the stairs and located the doors which were all off the same small corridor, and it was rather cosy that once the hall door was closed their rooms were the only 3 accessible in this way. 

“Right, I’m in here. Your key thing working OK?” Cormoran asked Robin who was fiddling trying to get a green light to flash.  
“Bugger!” was followed swiftly by a “Oh no, got it!” as she disappeared through the doorway.  
Ilsa and Robin had a quick turnaround – change out of travel clothes to look ‘Tom Ready’ and meet in the foyer in 20 minutes.

Strike and Nick could take their time, the cricket would be on tea and they’d get there for the second innings, which was ideal.  
Cormoran therefore unpacked and opened the large sash window which gave him access to the balcony. He needed to duck slightly even with the sash completely open, but it was a pleasant space.  
He tried not to flick his gaze to his right….tried, but failed – the window to Robin’s room was just there and she’d neglected to pull the curtains across, so only a thin piece of voile masked her half dressed state from him.  
He couldn’t help but think back to how his knee had been pressed against hers under the train table for the whole journey, and the way she’d said ‘Thanks’ to him and flashed him a pouty lipped smile as he hoisted her case down from the train onto the platform.  
He turned on purpose to gaze out across the city as he finished his cigarette.  
A buzz on his phone caught his attention – he assumed it was Nick asking for an update.

R : You got a hairdryer in your room?  
Strike regarded the message and grinned. Reaching across he rapped on the sash window, keeping himself firmly his side of the cast iron barrier between the rooms.  
Robin’s window rose and her slightly damp head peered out; she had a towel wrapped around what looked like her bra and pants.  
“Jesus! Is this safe? It’s not bloody attached to the wall properly!” she shrieked looking at Strike’s languid pose, resting against the cast iron scrollwork.  
“Course it is! I can see the brackets from here! Anyway, what on earth makes you think I have a hairdryer?!”  
Robin huffed slightly and rolled her eyes, “The one in your room……I’ve got one but it’s got one of those European plugs on it and there’s no socket it’ll go in!”  
Strike nodded and ducked through the sash window. 

Robin heard several cupboard doors being opened – clearly he had not seen the location of a hairdryer as a priority!  
He returned a few moments later carrying a small blow dryer with a UK plug attached.  
“Any good?”  
“Perfect! I’m all hot and bothered now after faffing around…..I need to calm myself down!” she twittered.  
Strike grinned at her, “I hope Mr Hiddleston appreciates all this effort!”  
She cast him an amused glare as she disappeared into her room leaving the window open.

Ten minutes later Ilsa, clad in a rather fetching black jumpsuit, flat brogues and a couple of colourful scarves knocked on Robin’s door.  
She waited as Robin applied a quick flick of mascara, bronzing powder and lipstick – she had gone for a wrap fronted jumpsuit which featured a gorgeous floral pattern. They both laughed about how long it would take them to wee at the interval and collected small bags and made sure each had their tickets and phones for picture taking.  
Nick and Corm were waiting at their own doorways as they giggled their way past.

“Don’t rip the poor man’s clothes off at the stage door!” Nick grinned, blowing his wife a kiss as she strode past.  
“Am I allowed to?” Robin asked cheekily, catching Nick’s eye before flashing her seductively made up, smoky eyes at Strike.  
He almost imperceptibly tweaked one eyebrow, “Go for it…..I dare you to try and hold a conversation with him without turning into a quivering mess!”  
“Challenge accepted!” she said, sticking out her hand in a jokey fashion for Strike to shake.

The warmth of his fingers on her smooth hand lingered down the stairs and out into the streets of Bath and she found herself rubbing across the skin he had touched so innocently….her thoughts anything but!

But today was a Tom Hiddleston day…..there was a small group of Ilsa and Robin’s online friends, based all over the world, who were unable to see the show, who were living this theatre trip vicariously through them.  
It gave them a very definite mission and focus – pictures, signatures on programmes, specific description of exactly what Tom Hiddleston smelled like and if possible, felt like – all of which needed to be shared online after the play.

Both ladies gave a little skip as they approached the theatre and saw the various posters, which were simply gorgeous and featured underwater images of Tom and his co-star, the wonderful Hayley Atwell. The delay over Robin’s hairdryer meant that they were slightly behind schedule on timing and went straight into the theatre, pausing only to buy programmes before they found their seats.

They sat down in what were frankly amazing seats and looked at each other.  
Both grinned like school girls and uttered the word, “SQUEEEEEEE!”

“You did remember that I might need you to stab me in the thigh with a fork if he looks fuck me delicious didn’t you?” Ilsa asked Robin.  
Robin sniggered slightly, “We have to behave. This is Ibsen, it’s well high brow and the fact that Tom Hiddleston will be standing just there, right in front of us looking all glorious and sexy is beside the point……we need to behave!”  
Ilsa tweaked her neck, “ Ok, in that case, the staging and lighting is wonderful already!”  
Robin replied in the same ‘fake calm’ manner, “Indeed it is, and highly atmospheric.”  
They gave each other reassuring expressions before dissolving once more into foot stamping, thigh slapping seal claps and squeals of excitement.

Bang on 2.30 the house lights went down and it began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole hair dryer thing happened.....my hair was NOT behaving as it should, I had 7 minutes to shower, change and redo make up and found the room hairdryer had the wrong plug on it....cue a text nextdoor and Lula to the rescue!


	2. Did you see those boots?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the first performance and associated squeeeing!

The girls were mesmerised from the start of the play. Hayley Atwell was magnificent. There was the odd nudge and knee squeeze back and forth between them as they waited for Tom’s entrance, and they were not disappointed. He strode onto the stage a few minutes into Act 1, and there was a sigh from not just Ilsa and Robin at his appearance.

The girls watched, transfixed, trying to drink in every detail and commit it to memory. The costumes, props, expressions. Both had read the play a couple of times in preparation, and whilst the language and exact circumstances had been modernised a little, the plot of the play was the same.

At one point, Tom strode to the front of the stage and prowled across to the other side, whilst removing his waistcoat, and Robin dropped her head to Ilsa’s shoulder with a dreamy sigh. Ilsa poked her. “Behave!” she breathed.

All too soon, the lights went back up and it was the interval. Robin and Ilsa turned to gaze at one another, breathless.

“Oh, just oh,” Ilsa sighed. “I need to remember how to breathe. Did you see those boots? Remember that War and Peace adaptation we watched last year with that guy we really fancied, what was his name? He wore boots and a coat like that. I wasn’t ready for him to come out looking like that!” She waggled her eyebrows.

Robin nodded, grinning. “Me neither! Shame he took them off right away……and it was Dolokhov…..Dolokhov and his fuck me boots!”

“Yeah, what’s with those slip-on house shoes? I can’t get excited about slippers! Much preferred the boots. Loved the red socks, though!” And the girls giggled and squeeed a little more.

“And the singing!” they gave each other heart-eyes and shared a little sigh at the memory of Tom joining in with a sung prayer led by Governor Kroll…..his voice was deep and delicious and it was just all so lovely!

“What was that with the salt?” Ilsa asked suddenly.

“I don’t know, I couldn’t quite see what he was doing.” Robin frowned.

“It looked like he tipped some in his hand and messed with it a bit, then threw it away,” Ilsa mused. “That wasn’t in the written play. I wonder what it meant.”

“And how much food did he eat?” They thought back to the supper scene. He’d really piled up his plate with what looked like smoked salmon and ‘something white’ that could have been cheese, and he’d yomped his way through most of the plateful whilst Governor Kroll and Rebecca shared their lines.

“Maybe he’s bulking up for his next role!” Ilsa suggested.

Robin shrugged. “Need the loo,” she said.

“Good luck,” Ilsa giggled.

It did indeed take Robin some time to get back, having been redirected by an usher from the queue at the main toilets to the ones upstairs off the Terrace Bar. These however had no queue, and she got a glance round the lovely bar area as she scurried through and back again.

She made it back down in time to squeee and nudge a little more, and then the second half began.

The girls were just as taken with the second half, watching rapt as the plot unfolded. They’d read an article in the Guardian by Hayley Atwell discussing her character arc, saying that she’d been asked if her character Rebecca was telling the truth or lying to save Tom Hiddleston’s character, and that she herself hadn’t decided which. Suddenly that all made sense.

The tense final scenes, filled with despair, brought tears to both girls’ eyes, and then in a dramatic ending the stage was flooded, water pouring from the back and washing forward, looking almost as though it would run into the stalls.

Then the play was over, and Ilsa and Robin were some of the first to lead the applause as the cast came out to take their bows, and the audience were whooping and clapping and stamping their feet. After a curtain call, the cast left, and the audience began to leave. Ilsa and Robin sat in their seats for a few moments just going “wow”.

“Right, come on, it’s time for our stage door moment!” Ilsa cried. They collected up their things, programmes in hand, and made their way outside to queue up behind the barriers on the street outside.

There was a little delay, and the girls chatted.

“Oh, I just wanted to run on stage and hug him when he cried,” Ilsa sighed, dreamily.

“Yeah, and what about that kiss? That wasn’t in the book.”

“I KNOW! And it was some kiss!” Ilsa giggled.

Ilsa had come prepared with an incredibly old volume of Ibsen which had belonged to her grandfather. She’d known nothing about his interest in classic literature until she happened to mention the play to her mother.

“Oh, that was one of your Grandad’s favourites! Always used to go on about white horses when anyone was getting raked through the gutter press!” and she’d disappeared up to the loft. She had returned with the green, slightly musty copy together with several others.

Ilsa had been thrilled and when she had flicked the pages and realised it was filled with his own scribbled notes in black ink she had almost exploded. Having deciphered his scrawled notes she had been delirious – she could actually hear his voice after almost 20 years without him in her life, and his comments were just so ‘him’.

Anyway, she wanted to get at least Tom and Hayley to sign it, and had even brought along a decent black ink pen (she had a purple Sharpie too, but Grandad would probably have drawn the line at that she felt!)

The first member of the cast to arrive was Giles Terera who had played Governor Kroll. He seemed to be walking straight off past the group until Ilsa called his name and he paused next to her. She managed to explain the significance of the book quite calmly and he spent several moments flicking the pages, reading the comments and asking questions about who Ilsa’s Grandfather was; “Just a regular guy who worked and fought in World War 2 and was loved,” had been her reply.

When he’d left she turned to Robin and asked whether she’d got any pictures…..Robin had enjoyed watching the intimate moment but had been too gobsmacked to get her phone out!

Still, it focussed them for Tom….hopefully he’d be next!

He was indeed – a group at the front of the barriers led a patter of applause as he ambled up wearing what could only be described as ‘dressed in the dark’ chic – what looked like a pair of pale grey long johns, textured grey t shirt, black trainers and a denim type jacket…..but he was there, swoonworthy and delicious in the flesh. He seemed to chat to a group for a lengthy period before moving across to the rest of the queue, making his way patiently along and taking each selfie requested with grace and ease.

Finally he was there, right in front of Ilsa. Robin was on picture taking duty now and snapped away as Ilsa somehow managed to ask if Tom could sign the book. He stood so close to her, his left hand grasping a Sharpie he’d been using to sign programmes and in his right he casually held the fountain pen Ilsa had thrust upon him. He carefully looked at a specific scribbled note in the margin, all about Rosmer needing the faith that he has lost; it seemed very pertinent given one of the later speeches in the stage version and he said things….Ilsa couldn’t have told anyone what those things were if her life depended on it, but he definitely spoke….and afterwards Robin did tell her that she’d looked very in control and calm. He picked up the book and held it almost reverently as he thumbed through, pausing to regard several of her Grandfather’s notes.

She then stood aside to allow Robin to get her programme signed……but she was all fingers and thumbs by this stage and didn’t manage to take a picture for her.

Robin had managed to take a couple of pictures of Ilsa with Tom, and thought her friend had done an admirable job of looking like a normal, talking human being rather than the gooey mess she knew her to be! She’d opened her programme to the middle pages, and Tom grinned and signed it when it was her turn. Afterwards she was sure she had said something to him but she couldn’t remember what it was, because as he handed the programme back, his fingers caught hold of hers and he lingered for just a second with that crinkly-eyed smile of his, and her brain was suddenly empty.

All too soon he was gone, moving up the line to greet more fans, and then Hayley Atwell appeared and started signing and taking selfies. Ilsa got her grandad’s book signed again, and Robin her programme, and they had a lovely chat with Hayley, telling her that they’d loved the play and her performance, and that they’d read the Guardian article.

And then, suddenly, it was all over. The girls watched, a little startled, as Tom strolled off up the street.

“Does he just...go and get a coffee between shows?" Robin asked .

The girls hovered, wondering what to do, truth be told still a little overwhelmed with Tom-ness. “Um...”

They heard a voice from the front of the theatre. The theatre manager had come out and was making an announcement. “We have a few more tickets for tonight, folks, only £15 each. And we have one box left with our ambassador experience, a welcome glass of champagne and some savoury snacks and chocolates.

Ilsa and Robin looked at one another.

“Surely it would be rude not to?!” Ilsa said.

“Shall we?” Ilsa said.

“What, see it all again? With the boots, and the kiss, and the crying.... YES!” cried Robin. “But what about the men?”

“Ah, they’ll be fine.” Ilsa waved a dismissive hand. “They’ve got each other, and the cricket will go on till it’s dark.”

So they pounced, and before they could overthink it and talk themselves out of it, they had purchased a box up in the gods for the evening performance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lula: I totally did utterly forget to take pics of Hobbes with Giles. Sorry!
> 
> Pics for this chapter can be seen:
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> [The theatre.](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/185222054220)
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> [The stage before/after.](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/185344226445)
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> [Hobbes with Tom/Hayley.](https://hobbeshalftail3469.tumblr.com/post/185219597455)
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> [Hobbes’ grandad’s book.](https://hobbeshalftail3469.tumblr.com/post/185219567595/so-lucky-to-have-giles-hayley-and-tom-sign-my)


	3. What the fuck is a squeee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is about the girls eating and realising what just happened....and sharing it with some online friends (although there is a whole other section on that to come!)  
> The boyz are at the cricket...Nick pokes the bear that is Strike by mentioning how simple it would be to make a move on Robin.....  
> The reality of Lula and I's trip was that we actually went to 2 evening performances, with much squeeeing over 2 evenings, but we have condensed it into the 2 performances in one day for the fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dishy waiter mentioned was actually a dishy barman.....and really, really he was mega fit - any other night he would have been top of the Top Trumps....poor boy; he just couldn't follow Tom!

Robin and Ilsa looked at one another, clutching their tickets, their eyes shining.  
A box!  
Champagne!  
Savoury nibbles!

“What now?” Robin asked.  
Ilsa looked at her watch. "Well. It’s almost half past five now, we’ve spent so long queueing and squeeing,” she said. “And we have to be back at seven for the pre-show drinks. So, dinner?”  
Robin nodded. “We should definitely eat, though I think I might be too excited to,” she agreed.  
“Me too.”

The girls set off up the street, and almost immediately came upon the little Greek restaurant on the other side of the road to the theatre which Ilsa had found courtesy of a Google Map search of the area around it. “This is the one,” Ilsa declared, and Robin nodded, so they went in.

The restaurant was long and thin - not a very wide street frontage, but it went back a long way. The girls were shown to a table and perused the menus, eventually ordering a light meal of hummus, flatbread and crudités, chicken skewer, rice and falafel with potatoes, that they could share. Neither was desperately hungry.

“Right,” Ilsa said, pulling her phone from her bag. “We need to think of what we’re going to text the men, and then see if anyone online is awake to gossip with!”  
“Ooh, good plan.” Robin took her phone out too.

...........................

The men, meanwhile, had enjoyed a slow stroll to the cricket club and found their seats and a couple of pints of beer.  
The weather was perfect, glorious sunshine and a light breeze. Nick fussed about with sun cream and insisted on Strike applying some too.  
Strike had long since learned that it was quicker and easier just to do as his doctor friend told him on such matters rather than argue.

Suitably protected - “it’s only May,” Strike hadn’t been able to resist muttering.  
“Can still burn. More likely, in fact, as your skin hasn’t seen the sun since October,” Nick had replied firmly - they sat back to enjoy the cricket and wave their flags and cheer.  
It was a T20 match, and Pakistan had set a decent target for England that morning, so the run chase was on.  
Once the flurry of the power play was over, the game slowed, with the visitors taking their time over the bowling and the hosts content to work their way slowly towards the target.  
The men had plenty of time to chat, and Nick was quite happy to be the runner to the bar and the hog roast van and back, meaning Strike only had to stir himself when his bladder gave him no option.

“Wonder how the girls are getting on,” Strike mused, sipping his pint.  
The only slight mar on his day so far was that, looking around, it appeared he couldn’t smoke in the stands. He couldn’t see any signs forbidding it, but no one else was, so he’d been having his nicotine fix next to the toilet block whenever he went to use the facilities. The pleasure of a beer and a cigarette together would have to wait until later.  
Nick glanced at his watch. “Must be nearly done,” he said. “Can’t be much longer than two hours, Ilsa didn’t spend ages and ages reading it, and she read it at least twice.”  
Strike grinned. “She’ll be quoting the lines back at the actors!”  
“I think she and Robin wanted to be well versed with it, it’s meant to be slightly modernised,” Nick explained.  
Strike snorted. “Don’t tell me it’ll be all combat boots and scaffolding. I hate it when they do that to a play to make it seem “modern”.”  
“I’m sure they’ll tell us all about it, in great detail.”  
“And we will listen most attentively,” Strike said with a wink.

Nick laughed. “I will, it’s definitely worth my while to let her relive seeing her idol on stage.”  
Strike shook his head, laughing. “I don’t know what’s got into them over this trip,” he said. “Robin’s been... what’s that word they use?”  
“Squeeing?”  
“Yeah, that. What the fuck is a squee?”  
“God knows, mate. We’ll have to get the girls to explain later.” Nick gave Strike a cheeky sideways glance. “So, you gonna make your move tonight?”

Strike shifted a little on his seat. “'Make my move?’ It’s not some chess game.”  
“Might as well be, the amount of time it’s taking and the amount of skirting around each other you two do.”  
Strike glared, and Nick held up a hand. “I know, I know. You’re just here to save Robin from being a gooseberry. But come on. You can’t dislike the idea.”

Strike sighed and stared at the cricket, not really seeing it. “I don’t,” he admitted. “But it’s not a good plan, we have to work with each other. Things were...complicated, distant, when she and Matthew were married. Now we’re good mates and working together better than ever. I’m not fucking that up.”  
“Might not fuck it up, though. Might be great.”  
“Isn’t it time you went for more beer?”  
Nick knew when he was being told to shut up. He grinned. “Same again?”  
“Yup.” Strike pulled a tenner from his wallet and passed it across, and Nick set off leaving Cormoran to continue to mull over the possibility that it might actually just be great....

...

“I don’t think I can bring myself to tell him we’re going to see Tom again,” Ilsa giggled.

Their food had arrived, neatly stacked plates on two holders with the hot food on one and the cold on the other.  
It had been delivered by a rather dishy, if painfully young waiter in a slouchy black t shirt and earring who on any other day would have received significant appraisal from the pair….too bad he’d had to follow Tom! 

They had helped themselves and were eating slowly, neither very hungry but knowing they should eat.  
They’d both agreed they weren't used to eating a large meal this early in the pre-evening.

Robin laughed a little. “So what are you going to say?”  
“Um, probably that we’ve got tickets to another play. That’s not lying, right? It is another play. Another showing of the same play is another play?”  
“We’re going to have to agree what we watched, then.”  
“Oh, I’ll probably tell him later!” Ilsa said, tapping on her phone. “I won’t be able to resist. Tell you what, I won’t even say that. There.” She sent Nick a simple text saying “got cheap tickets to an evening performance, finish about half ten. See you later? xxxx”

“Right, let’s turn our attention to letting the gang know how we got on,” she added.

“Right, well, I’ve been kind of trying, and we have two problems,” Robin said. “Firstly, the WiFi here is rubbish. I can send messages, just, but I’m having trouble uploading pictures. And second, I have almost no pictures! We were crap, Ils.”

Ilsa was scrolling though her photo albums now, and groaned. “We really were,” she said. “I’ve got one of Tom full-length, look, but it’s blurry. And a nice one of Hayley and a couple of the stage.”  
“And I’ve got a nice one of you with Hayley, and you having your grandad’s book signed. But no pictures of the posters, and we FORGOT SELFIES!”  
“And I have no idea what he smelled of…I mean I was close enough, but I sort of forgot how to breath let alone sniff up. His arm was against me Robs…..his arm!”

The girls stared at one another.

“Right. We’ll have to go back,” Robin said firmly.  
“After the show? Again? We’ll look like stalkers!”  
“Ah, we’ll stand somewhere different. They see loads of people after every show, they won’t recognise us, and you can take one of your scarves off; you’ll look totally different!” Robin winced, not particularly convincingly!

“But we talked to both of them.”  
“They talked to everyone, they’re so lovely. And we’ll have had champagne, we’ll be feeling brave enough to ask for selfies. Hey, if we’re seeing it twice, we can have the meet and greet twice, right?”

Ilsa’s phone pinged beside her and she lifted it wondering if it was Nick.  
She laughed outloud at the message, all in capital letters and flashed it to Robin:  
‘IS THAT YOUUUUUUUUU?!?!’

As Robin giggled a further flurry of messages came through asking :  
‘Is he lovely?’  
‘Does he smell good?’  
‘Was the play good?’  
“Play? You mean there was a play in the middle of all that perfect Tomness?!” Robin sniggered.

They decided to have hot drinks as a means of absorbing their free Champagne to come and as a way of eeking out their time so that they were not ridiculously early for their box. So they sipped soothing chamomile tea and bracing espresso before paying their bill and resisting the temptation to gallop ‘Miranda style’ across the road to the now familiar theatre frontage.

____

Back at the cricket Nick’s phone buzzed and he waited until they had finished cheering a ‘6’ before pulling it from his pocket.  
“Hmmmph, they’re staying out late watching something else!”

Strike managed to disguise the small sulk which threatened to rearrange his features, “Right! Where are you taking me then?”  
Nick inhaled deeply.  
They were onto the last 5 overs so the cricket would be finishing in the next 30 to 40 minutes.  
“Did I ever tell you about Alexandra Cartwright?” 

Strike narrowed his gaze, trying to recall the name but drawing a blank.  
He had absorbed quite a hefty amount of alcohol whilst they had sat watching the match, but he was merely in a slightly blurry stage of mild drunkenness.  
“Doesn’t ring a bell!”

Nick gave a throaty, slightly obscene snigger and nudged his friend quite heavily in the ribs – he’d foolishly almost kept pace with Cormoran in pints!  
“Got off with her when I came across here to stay with a mate in the Uni days pre Ilsa…..she looked like Winona Ryder, back in the 90s when she was dating Johnny Depp….dark bobbed hair, ivory skin…..red lips……” and he trailed off waggling his eyebrows and sniggering further.

Cormoran’s shoulders shook in amusement, “You never mentioned a Winona Ryder lookalike one night stand! But you’re not suggesting looking her up are you?”  
Nick shook his head, “No, no….but we could relive the pub crawl….I could show you the pubs in order and fill you in on the juicy details…..pubs Oggy! You and me and pubs!”  
Strike smirked at his friend’s ridiculous grin, “I suppose whilst your wife has been drooling openly over Mr Hiddleston why not……but I’m not reliving any of the particulars with you other than drinking……she may well have eaten your face, but I only plan on eating pizza…or maybe chips!”  
Nick was glassy eyed, “Ali Cartwright……right we started off in the Feathers…..let me have a look on Google Maps where it is – mustn’t be too far I seem to remember it was on the cricket ground side of town.”  
Nick turned his attention to his phone as the bowling team managed to get the opposition’s number 7 batsman out after a mighty shout of ‘Howzaaaatttt!’ echoed by Strike and most of the crowd.


	4. The Box of Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ladies spend their second viewing of the play in their box....and minds wander to all the possible naughtiness that could occur in one (there may or may not have been a consideration of a fic based on this starring all our favourite characters......but the barrier at the front really is too low!!!)  
> Lula should add some more real example piccies later of the box, and the chandelier and all the gloriousness up there.

The girls showed their printed out tickets and were directed up the stairs Robin had used earlier in the day to locate the less well known and quieter ladies loo.  
They both decided to use the opportunity whilst they were there. Their box wasn’t quite ready – they’d asked a rather delicious guy behind the bar and he told them they would be able to go through in about 5 or 10 minutes.

Having wee’d and re dressed, both bemoaning the fact that jumpsuits were quite the most ridiculous items of clothing to try and get in and out of in a public loo, they wandered out to a small balcony where several couples and small groups of friends were partaking of the view and pre-play drinks.  
Robin took out her phone and managed to get a couple of shots of a huge billboard, depicting Tom and Hayley in the familiar ‘underwater’ pose of the advertising poster.  
“We need to take lots of photos this time…..there are people all over the world depending on us to be their fan representatives,” Robin explained, “We should be able to get some decent shots from the box of the stage and the actual theatre; Vee said she wanted to see all the fancy bits when I messaged her and told her the inside looks like it did back in the olden days….says she’s got an idea for using it in a historical story she’s going to write.”

Movement over near the bar signified that the theatre was now available, so they made their way down about 8 rather steep but carpeted steps to a matte grey door, labelled Box O.

It was Robin who twisted the handle and opened the door onto a very compact space which was incredibly high up in the theatre. “Oh bugger!”  
Ilsa regarded her as she advanced the 2 steps needed to reach the quite low bannister with a wide, velvet ledge atop. “You OK?”  
Robin gulped a little, “I’m not brilliant with heights actually!” she admitted.  
Ilsa winced, “You going to be OK? The chair has quite deep sides on it, if I move it you can hold onto it and then you’ve got two barriers between you and….”  
“What? Certain death!” 

They removed their jackets and took in the rest of the box.  
Two, plush grey seats, a side table containing small bowls of crisps and a mixture of Chinese rice crackers and roasted soya nuts plus 2 small, gold boxes of chocolates fastened with red, voile ribbons; and a small ice filled Champagne bucket containing 2 bottles of what was on closer inspection Cava and plastic, but decent plastic, Champagne flutes.

Ilsa leaned over the edge and snapped away on her phone, “I’ll get these pictures, you just try to get comfy,” she stated, hearing Robin hiss fractionally as she leaned over to look at where they had sat earlier, and to get decent images of the huge chandelier and the beautifully lit stage.  
Robin managed to jiggle her chair in such a way that left her feeling satisfied – as long as she didn’t stare completely over the edge she’d be fine….and once the play started again she knew it would distract her enough.  
Ilsa twisted the ‘corks’ on the Cava and they poured glasses, 'clinking' and giving a cheers before getting a selfie style image which they could send to their online friend Stella, later.

Having downed a glass of fizzy wine Robin was feeling more comfortable in their small booth. She giggled slightly.  
“What’s so funny?” Ilsa asked.  
“I’m thinking about what people could potentially get up to in one of these boxes……it’s pretty private, although that barrier’s quite low down!”

Ilsa mimed placing her finger about seven or so inches from her groin and shared a lasciviously raised eyebrow with Robin’s blushing face, “Depends how private you NEED it to be….although in Corm’s case…” and she moved her finger a couple of inches further into the air.  
Robin hissed and squealed, “Ils!!!!!!” as the pair sniggered ridiculously.  
“The good thing about being up here is we don’t have to be as well behaved…..I could quite see me snaffling Nick up here…..once the lights go down….”  
“What?......he does too?” Robin hissed, widening her mouth in a silent scream at Ilsa’s clapping seal hands and stamping feet.  
“Too right! He’s nice and flexible my Nicky Boy!”

Robin’s eyes twinkled in the chandelier light, “Too bad Cormoran isn’t though!” she pouted.  
Ilsa jumped on the comment, “Erm…..why would it matter that Corm isn’t very flexible Robin?.....are you imagining naughty things with your co-worker in the box of delights?!!!” she nudged Robin repeatedly saying, “Eh? Eh?” until Robin had to hold her sides from giggling.

Their hilarity was momentarily interrupted by a front of house attendant checking their tickets and advising them to ‘not leave anything on the ledge’.  
“You feeling OK about being so high up now?” Ilsa asked, sensing that Robin was a little calmer – she was twisting around and grabbing the little dishes of salty nibbles and handing one to her friend.  
Robin nodded a little and twisted back around, “Have you seen that door knob? It’s a bit flash!” she quipped, jerking her neck in the direction of the door.  
The door knob was indeed rather ‘flash’. Ilsa pursed her lips around a rice cracker, “Must remember to tell Stella, Jules and Vee about the crystal knob!"

“Oh God, Ilsa! We’re hysterical! High on Tom….in more ways than one!” she gesticulated their proximity to the ceiling, then squealed slightly as they heard the bell being rung distantly in the foyer and bars, indicating that the start of the show was imminent.

The first two acts were as glorious as on the previous performance.  
Tom’s entrance in the boots and long coat still gave them both goosebumps, but they were noticing other details now. Like the fact that he appeared so huge on the stage; as did the guy playing Governor Kroll; and yet at the stage door they’d seemed….well, normal sized. 

The salt thing was still there….he definitely poured some into his left palm, rubbed at it fractionally with his finger and then just replaced the celler and moved on.  
They also took notice of the platter of food – definitely smoked salmon, and what looked like potatoes and/or boiled eggs as the ‘white’ bits.

The section where Rebecca appears in his bedroom was enhanced by the visibility of a book on his bed, which he covered…..what was that book?  
Why was he covering it?  
Could it be a Bible given that he later says he wants his faith back?

The section where the scene changed to the bedroom enabled them to focus specifically on Tom, this was the part where he crossed the stage and removed his waistcoat. However, from their angle they also got the full effect of him leaning against the window on his forearm….which was poignant, heart breaking…….and made his arse look fucking first class!

But, as per the previous performance the first half flew by, and again, all too soon the house lights came up and the ladies were left again to gaze dreamily at each other.

“Oh Ils……it’s just soooooooo good!”

They discussed their thoughts about the book on the bed, Ilsa decided that it could be an ideal stage door opening question….plus they were actually curious – the exact content of Tom’s reading matter was always a fairly hot topic within their friends on social media!

Neither needed the loo on this occasion, so they relaxed and emptied what remained of their fizzy wine into their flutes and sipped. Ilsa canted her mind back to their giggling discussion before the play started.  
“So come on Robin…..what exactly DID you mean about that whole Cormoran comment before? You like him don’t you?”

Robin felt the blush start at her neck and travel up to her cheeks but didn’t, or rather couldn’t hide the smirk to her lips.

“Oh my God!!! You really do! Don’t you?....I was sort of joking, but you do like him don’t you?…..and for your information I really wasn’t joking about the length earlier……he’d need a significantly higher ledge!!!”

Robin shook her head and reached around to the small, gold chocolate boxes as a distraction technique.  
She wasn’t going to deny anything that Ilsa had implied…..she had indeed been seeing Strike in quite a different way recently.  
The way he’d looked during the trip dressed in his casual khaki cargo pants, black t shirt and sun glasses had made it difficult to concentrate on the passing scenery! And the little glimmer of……something, when she’d asked him for that hairdryer at the hotel…..he’d looked so sexy leaning on that balcony….and she planned on drinking quite a lot of wine later with Ilsa…….and she was feeling ridiculously silly and giggly…..and maybe a bit flirty….

“You’ve gone all glazed over,” Ilsa accepted the offered box and tugged off the red ribbon revealing 4 rather sumptuous chocolates. She selected one shaped like a fat, milk chocolate cylinder and bit down into the soft centre which tasted deliciously of oranges.  
Robin opened her own box and scanned the choices, she selected a dark chocolate crown shaped one and bit it in half, revealing the fact that it was filled with soft, golden caramel.

“Oooh, dark and gooey!” she drooled slightly, waggling her eyebrows at Ilsa.

“We’re back onto Corm aren’t we?!”

They were still sniggering as the lights went down; neither were able to stifle their giggles…..the more they tried the harder it became and they hissed at each other to “Stop!”, “Just stop it!” and “Behave!” as they wiped tears from their eyes and focused again on the stage.  
Knowing the delicious parts still to come, including that dazzling kiss – which from this angled enabled they to get the full effect of his hands swarming across her back and caused Ilsa to expel a small sob somehow gave them enough control to focus back on the stage.....and apparently the sight of La Hiddleston is enough to cure vertigo!

The scene where Rosmer’s character loses it and does a homage to Morrissey by flinging a load of flowers at the portraits looked spectacular from their higher position; although they noticed that Rebecca’s shouts of ‘Coward!’ were a little more croaky having already given her all in one performance already.  
The pair found themselves almost sprawled across the low, velvet upholstered ledge as the climax of the play unfolded.  
The moment the water filled the stage was amazing!  
The white horses of the water flooding from the rear of the stage forwards was prophetic and stunning.

The curtain call and applause rained down again, with Ilsa and Robin shouting and whooping along with others in the audience.  
“I need the loo!” Robin announced as they gathered their leftover choccies plus their jackets.

Jumpsuits removed, urine expelled and everything wrestled back into place the ladies trotted down the stairs and made their way again to the stage door. They took up a position closer to the start of the line which also gave them a view of each actor as they made their way along the side of the theatre building before reaching them. 

They were able to make out feet showing under the door – the first few were false alarms with the staff lobbing bin bags into the rubbish carts. Then Giles came out again – and this time Robin snapped a lovely image of him…..he really was quite small and softy spoken compared to the powerhouse of a man he appeared on stage!

Some of the minor stars appeared next, and then after what felt like an age Tom emerged.  
Both Ilsa and Robin jiggled about, but got snapping and managed to get some lovely, if slightly out of focus images of him grinning his gorgeously sheepish, soft smile before he even got to the waiting crowd.  
He began diligently signing programmes and patiently posing for selfies. 

He reached Ilsa and she made eye contact with him asking, “ You actually signed my book earlier, but I completely forgot to ask for a picture. Could I possibly….?” He replied with an ‘Of course’ and arranged himself next to her, arm resting on the barrier between them as Ilsa fumbled with her phone, wishing that she was better at frigging selfies.  
She’d almost squashed a young lady next to her in the process, but Ilsa quickly made her apologies as Tom turned his attention to her and graciously thanked her for allowing Ilsa to get her picture……God he was sooooo nice!!!

He was moving down the barrier and Robin still hadn’t moved in, so she found a spot further along and Ilsa walked along at his pace, behind the people asking for pictures – it was their turn to get a bit of Tom too!  
She remembered the book on the bed which they’d seen and during a pause in signing she calmly asked, “Tom? What is the book….the one on the bed? We didn’t see it earlier from the stalls, but we just watched it from up in the Gods and noticed it….it was black with red edging…..I wondered if it was a bible?”

Tom finished scribbling another autograph and looked back directly at Ilsa….she willed herself not to go ‘Hoooooo’ outloud and instead listened intently as he replied, “I’m not sure what it actually is now, but back when they asked me what I thought it should be I said Les Fleurs du Mal….you know?” and he gave her that little raised brow nod thing he does so well!

Ilsa had no idea what the book in question was, but gave the head on one side nod and “Oh, really!” generic response, followed by, “So, definitely not a bible then!?” and received a ‘No!’ and a rather pointed smirk.

Robin was next and moved in for her selfie, again asking whether he would be so kind and receiving a gracious, “Of course you can.” He again arranged himself beside her and she grinned up into her phone.

They moved away as there was a large crowd still eager to get images, and the ladies now just wanted to review their snaps and debrief.

They moved up the road in the direction of the hotel, giggling and making the odd random comment: “Fuck that was amazing!” “Robin, we got selfies!!!!!” “Jesus he’s so fucking hot!”  
They also had a fairly serious conversation about how the guy really must know the effect he has on women……and they formulated the theory that he does those little smouldering stares, and finger grazes and sexy smirks on purpose fully knowing that another gusset is being ruined before his eyes!  
Two of them were making their way slightly unsteadily towards the balconied hotel with it's free wifi!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I admit to being a pleb and not knowing about Baudelaire.....but to be fair, even if I had intimate knowledge of the book I think I'd have blanked big style after I got the full frontal smoulder.  
> Anyway, for those of us who are equally clueless, this particular volume of French poems contains 6 rather racy ones which were banned in France until about 1949!  
> It also contains the poem The Swan - which has many links to the story of Rosmersholm.  
> It also contains the poem, Death of the lovers.  
> It also has a title which refers to the Flowers of Evil - flowers are a common and important feature of the play.  
> So, potentially Tom chose Rosmer's bedtime reading to link to the play......or he just thought Rosmer got his bedtime rocks off to kinky French poetry!!!  
> Take your pick....but that little raised eyebrow I got from Monsieur Burke spoke volumes!!!!!
> 
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> [Around the theatre. ](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/185415989780/touched-by-tom-chapter-4-pics-outside-and-around)
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> [Inside the theatre.](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/185415961915/touched-by-to-chapter-4-pics-internals-of)
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> [ Stage door.](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/185416126965/touched-by-tom-chapter-4-stage-door)


	5. Schlepping

“Right!” Nick said in a very definite tone. He turned gently on the spot, peering at his phone, waiting for the little blue arrow to face the right direction. “This way!” And he set off confidently along the pavement.

Strike rolled his eyes surreptitiously and followed him.

The cricket had finished, a narrow victory for England with just three balls and one wicket to spare. The crowd had cheered and whooped, waved their flags, listened to and applauded the captains’ interviews and the Man of the Match award, and were now dispersing, chatting happily. The roads were busy in all directions.

Nick was quite determined to drag Strike on his trip down memory lane, insisting that there would be plenty of drinking opportunities as there were a couple of pubs involved, and muttering something about an alley that Strike really hoped he hadn’t heard correctly.

“How far is it?” Strike complained now, trailing after his friend.

“Google maps says 14 minutes to walk. It’s less than a mile.”

Thinking darkly to himself that it was a good thing he’d had an afternoon of alcohol to numb his leg a little, Strike managed not to complain for a few more minutes.

“Are you sure this is the right way? We don’t seem to be heading back towards town.”

“Yeah, yeah, we go down here and then across, then down a bit more. It’s not far.”

Strike paused to light a cigarette, and carried on following.

“Tell me about this girl, then. Why are we doing this?”

Nick winked. “It’s just an excuse to find some nice little pubs, really,” he said. “But she was sexy. She was a friend of a friend of the mate I was visiting, they vaguely knew each other. We bumped into her in this one pub, think it was called the Feathers, and she and her mate kind of tagged along on our pub crawl. Things kind of...progressed as the pubs did.” He gave Strike a cheeky wink that made his old friend snort with laughter.

“How far now?”

Nick looked down at his phone. “Oh. It still says 14 minutes.”

“Come off it. We’ve been walking at least ten.”

“Hardly.”

“Well, at least five, then. More like eight. No way can it still be 14 to go.”

“No...” Nick stared at his phone suspiciously. “Let’s cross here.”

They waited for the lights to change and the green man to light up, and crossed the road. Nick dived down a small side street. Grumbling about the cobbles, Strike followed. They emerged into a smaller road. Nick consulted his phone, turned left, and they carried on walking.

“How far now?”

“Not far. Just a couple of streets.”

“Hm.”

Eventually they found the Feathers, and Nick looked at it doubtfully. “Doesn’t look familiar.”

“It’s a pub. It’ll do,” Strike said firmly, and shouldered his way in and went up to the bar. Nick followed, looking around at the dark interior.

“This isn’t it, Oggy. The bar was over there, and the toilets were that way.”

“They could have refurbished.”

“What, and moved everything? No, this isn’t it. Come on.”

“Drink first. At least a whisky.”

Nick grinned. “Okay, then.”

Strike ordered two whiskys while Nick moved to sit at a small table. He looked around. The pub was small, but pretty. Above where he sat, a stained glass cupola let in the evening light in abstract patterns. Fancy gold filigree and scrolls decorated panels on the ceiling. A chandelier hung in the main part of the bar.

Strike came and sat down, and the two men clinked glasses and drank.

“What next, then?” Strike asked. Nick screwed up his face, trying to assemble alcohol-soaked brain cells in to some kind of semblance of order, trying to remember.

“Not the Feathers, then,” he muttered. “Sure it started with F. Flying Horse? No...”

“It must be almost twenty years ago, mate. Might have renamed it.”

Nick sighed glumly. “Yeah. And don’t be cheeky. It’s, like, five years since we were twenty, surely.”

Strike laughed. “I’m sorry to tell you that it’s almost twenty years since we were twenty.”

Nick’s eyes lit up suddenly. “The Fiddle! It was called the Fiddle. Or the Fiddler or something.” He began to hunt on his phone again.

Strike scowled. “If Google Maps says it’s 14 minutes again, I’m not going. It’s a lying bastard.”

“Eight!” Nick said triumphantly. “Eight minutes. And it’s back in the right direction, towards the hotel. Come on.” He drained his glass and stood, slightly unsteady.

Strike rolled his eyes openly this time and stood too. “This had better be a bloody good story, Herbert.”

They set off up the road again. Strike insisted on a slower pace for his leg. “My knee is stiffening up when we sit,” he complained.

“Better keep moving, then,” Nick teased.

“God, how far have we schlepped now?”

“I don’t think it’s much further. Down here.” Nick turned right into another side road. “Anyway, don’t you have to be carrying stuff to be schlepping?”

“What?” Strike muttered crossly, negotiating yet another pavement edge.

“I always thought you schlepped your stuff about the place. We’re not carrying anything.”

“Christ, I don’t know. It’s a bloody long way, is what I meant. Are we even still in Bath? We’re probably in the next town by now. What’s next? Corsham? If I see bloody Poldark walking down the street...!”

Nick cast him a sideways glance. “What on earth are you talking about, Oggy?”

“Poldark,” Strike grumbled. “Set in Cornwall but some of it is filmed up the road here in Corsham. Look, there’s a pub. That’ll do.”

“That’s the one! That’s it!” Nick cried excitedly.

“Thank fuck for that,” Strike muttered, and they went in. He moved to sit down as Nick went up to the bar.

“Not there, Oggy! That table.” Nick pointed. Still muttering under his breath, Strike obediently moved to the correct table and sat down, relieved to take the weight off his knee. He sat and looked around at the pub. It was decorated in dark wood with plush red upholstery, and strings of fairy lights were hung across the ceiling. There were a few tables, one of which he was sat at, and a couple of areas where stools sat before widened windowsills so that drinkers could sit and look out at the bustling streets.

Nick plonked two pints on the table, and pulled out a couple of menus from under his arm. “I deduce, with my lay person’s detective skills, that you need feeding,” he said with a wink. “And this is proper local real ale, from Bath Ales.”

Strike brightened considerably. “You mean I get to sit down for a bit?”

“We’ve been sitting all day!”

Strike had to concur. “Why did it have to be this table?”

“Because this is where I was sat when I met Ali. I’ll fill you in when we’ve ordered, I’m hungry too now.”

They perused the menus, and Nick went up and ordered food, a steak and ale pie with chips each. “Might absorb some of the alcohol,” he grinned as he returned to his seat.

“So, tell me about this spurious reason for a pub crawl.”

“Well, we met in here. Right here. She was amazing, just walked right up, said hi to Phil and then to me, picked up my pint and took a great big gulp of it. So of course I had to offer to buy her her own drink.”

“Well, naturally. Can’t have her drinking yours.” Strike winked.

“Exactly! So she and her friend joined us, and when we were done with our pints, they asked if they could tag along. Of course we said yes.” Nick grinned, remembering. “She wasn’t tall, but she had this...presence about her. Bold, cheeky. It was really attractive. And her hair was so perfect in its bob shape, I kept wanting to touch it to see if it was real.”

Strike grinned. “And then?”

“She and her friend somehow managed to separate us in the next pub. It’s slightly hazy, we’d had a few by then. And the next thing I knew, she and I were in a corner by the window, snogging.”

“And...?”

Nick chortled. “And then we were in the alley down the side of the pub, doing a lot more than snogging!”

Strike laughed. “Good on you, mate. Did you shag her?”

Nick winked outrageously. “Not in the alley! That was just for, er, her amusement, shall we say.”

“But you did—?”

“Ah, here’s the food. That was quick.”

Two plates piled with pie and chips were put in front of them. Nick went in search of salt and ketchup, and soon the two old friends were tucking in heartily and discussing the cricket.

“Wonder how the girls are getting on,” Strike mused. “It’s later than I thought, they must be nearly done.”

Nick glanced at his watch. “Yeah, gosh, look at the time. I guess after this we could wend our way slowly back to the hotel, see what pubs we pass on the way.”

Replete at last, the men sat back and sighed, agreeing that the pie and particularly the gravy had been perfect. They sat for a while to let their food settle, but soon Strike declared a nicotine top-up was needed, and so they set off again, Strike smoking as they went.

Nick was glued to his phone again, seeking out the route, when he suddenly looked up triumphantly. “I know where we are now,” he said, putting his phone back in his pocket. “This way.” He swung down a side street and out onto a more main road.

“There!” he claimed, triumphantly. “That’s the pub I snogged her in. And that’s the alley.” He nudged Strike hard and sniggered, pointing to the alley down the side of the pub that contained bins and the fire escape for the floors above.

Strike glanced up at the pub as he dropped his cigarette into the gutter. “The Cambridge. Huh. Got a pub called that round the corner in London.”

Nick nodded. “I’m sure I’ve met you in there,” he said. “Are we going in? I promise I won’t make you snog me to relive the experience.”

Strike laughed. “Memories or not, any excuse for another whisky,” he said, and they went in. They didn’t linger long, enjoying a single malt each while Nick pointed out the corner by the window where the famous snog had occurred. It was occupied by a quiz machine now.

“I’m not interested in visiting the alley,” Strike warned him as they left, and Nick laughed. “One more thing to show you,” he said, with another giggle.

He led them up the road, down a side street into a pretty little square with benches dotted about, patches of shrubs and a small black and white building in the centre.

“What’s this?” Strike asked.

Nick grinned. “This is the last place we need to visit on the Ali-in-the-alley tour,” he said. “After the, ah, encounter in the alley, which was more about her than me, shall we say, she dragged me here. It was super late by this stage, the place was deserted. We sat on...” he looked around, calculating. “..that bench there.”

They strolled over and regarded the bench. Strike took the opportunity to sit. Nick winked at him. “You’re now sitting right where my bare arse sat,” he chortled, sitting next to his friend.

“Ugh. I assumed it’s been cleaned since. Why on earth—?”

“She had this loose skirt on, one of those wide ones they all wore in those days. She sat on my lap, and, well, one thing led to another.”

“You screwed her on a public bench?” Strike roared with laughter.

“Well, technically she screwed me,” Nick said, grinning. “I just went along with it.”

Strike waggled his eyebrows. “Bet that was hot.”

“Oh, God, it was. And the craziest part - she was pretty out there - we were just, ah, really getting into it when this super drunk guy stumbled past and stopped and waved a cigarette at us and asked if we had a light!”

Strike snorted. “And you told him to fuck off? Did he not realise what you were doing?”

“You know, I don’t think he did. He was really drunk. But get this. Ali stops, fishes a lighter out of her bag and beckons him over! So he’s, like, standing there, leaning towards us while she lights his cigarette—”

Strike barked an incredulous laugh. “And you’re—?”

“Yeah! Not to be too delicate about it, we’re... You know, I’m in there, literally—”

Strike was laughing helplessly now.

“—and then she starts asking him if he’s had a good evening, starting a fucking conversation with him!” Nick was laughing too now. His eyes lost focus a little, remembering. “And she was doing this... God, you know what I mean, Oggy, she was squeezing me. I nearly lost the plot mid-conversation.”

Strike grinned and clapped him on the back. “I can’t believe you’ve never told me about this in all these years!”

Nick paused, laughter fading. “Yeah, well, by the time I next saw you, your mum... Well, it just didn’t seem appropriate then. And I guess it just never came up after that.”

Strike snorted at the deliberate double entendre. “Well, maybe you can drag Ilsa down here later and recreate your evening.”

“Hah. Are you offering to be the drunk guy with the cigarette?”

“Ugh, no, bugger off. On second thoughts, keep to the privacy of your room. Quietly, remember, I’m right next door.” Strike grinned.

“I can’t speak for how quiet Ilsa will be. We brought a bottle of Prosecco.” Nick winked again. “They’re my favourite nights with my wife, when she’s had Prosecco. I’m hoping she and Robin will open it when they get back.”

“Oh, God. Maybe I’ll come down here myself, I can sleep on the bench!” Strike complained, and Nick laughed. He stood, dragging his friend up by the arm.

“Come on. Let’s wander back to that pub round the corner from the hotel. I swear it’s not far. Don’t look at me like that, I mean it. Don’t need lying bastard Google Maps for this, I know where I am now. We can camp out in the pub and wait for the girls to get back from their second theatre trip.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. This chapter for the boys is in fact a representation of what Hobbes and I did on our middle day, when we went on a hike all around Soho and looked up Denmark Street, the Flying Horse (JKR’s Tottenham) and the Duke of York (where the Tottenham scenes were filmed).
> 
> We also popped into several pubs and had discussions about whether they looked right. And we stumbled upon the Cambridge by accident.
> 
> I used Google Maps to navigate us and it did take longer than it said. The Duke of York was quite a hike and it said 14 minutes for ages. Hobbes was very patient but from the way she was laughing at what I wrote, I think she was probably grumbling in her head as much as Corm was out loud. 😂😂 She did mutter that we’d end up in Hendon if we kept going, which I have changed to Corsham here because geography.
> 
>  
> 
> [Pictures.](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/185434168165/pictures-for-touched-by-tom-chapter-5-the-flying)
> 
>  
> 
> Lula


	6. Is your squeee at the ready?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the girls getting back to the hotel and having a mental, and very autobiographical couple of hours sharing images, sending messages and online chat with various peops (Jules, Stella, Vee - you know who you are!)  
> The slapping of the woodwork with hysteria, almost knocking over the wine really did happen (although we were actually perched out on the balcony via the sash window - I think Lula will add a couple of real pics)  
> Oh, and Lula DID crawl along the balcony due to her keycard stopping working.....and she doesn't like heights!!!
> 
> We also drift into the bits that DIDN'T happen on Lula and I's trip towards the end.....these are the Strike and Robin 'plot' (yeah, OK, plot is pushing it!) bits.

They passed a late night ‘everything’ shop and giggled inside to locate screw top white wine and chocolate before continuing on to their hotel.

Ilsa and Nick’s room was the first door, and they decided to decamp there in order to share pictures, drink and start messaging their online friends with proof of their amazingly productive endeavors. Robin however made a quick detour to her own room to fetch the bottle of prosecco she had stashed in the mini bar fridge after removing the bottles of overpriced Fanta and Lager earlier.  
She also went across and opened the large sash window, allowing the cooler evening air to waft the voile curtains and remove some of the sticky feeling stale air from the room and kicked off her shoes before she trotted back to join Ilsa.

“You heard from Nick?” Robin asked as she flung herself into one of the upholstered bucket type seats in the room.  
Ilsa had gone straight over to her window and had opened it as high as possible to let some of the still muggy, but fresher air into the hot room and she was now stripping off her jumpsuit in the bathroom and dragging on black palazzo style pyjama pants and a black vest style top.

“I sent him a text to let him know we were alive and on our way back to the hotel. He said him and Corm had been on a bit of a tour of the pubs and park benches of Bath….Lord knows what that means!”  
Robin smiled and sucked in her cheeks, “So they’ve had quite a lot to drink then? We’d better catch up….that Champagne buzz is starting to wear off!” 

Ilsa cracked open the screw top on the bottle of white wine they’d purchased, which had come directly from the fridge in the shop, and poured it into the wine glasses which were adjacent to the mini bar.  
“Cheers ma’ dears…..here’s to a squeefilled day of Tom-ness!”  
“We did it babes! We got selfies, and autographs and managed to have a sort of conversation with him….I mean….we couldn’t really ask for more!” Robin added, tossing back a hefty slug of the rather decent but overpriced Sauv Blanc.

They drank the best part of half a glass each, flicking back through images and starting the somewhat laborious process of sharing their phone pictures with each other.  
Maybe it was the giddiness, or the wine, but the process seemed to take longer than usual and Ilsa could only send some of her pictures individually. But eventually they had a set each.

“OK, what are we sending and to whom?” Robin asked.  
Ilsa regarded the absolutely perfect selfie of Robin with Tom on her phone, “I think we should just send this to all three of them!”  
Robin nodded in agreement, “Shall we give them a bit of a heads up and do it one at a time then we can enjoy their squees?”  
They agreed that this was the best idea, so Ilsa fired off a message to Stella asking whether she had her “Squee at the ready?”

The response which flashed back almost immediately was ‘Always!!!’, so Ilsa shared the delicious selfies of first herself, and then Robin beside the delightful Tom. Meanwhile Robin did the same thing to Vee.

The response from Stella coincided with Vee’s reply :  
‘Ohhhhh! My!!!! LORT!!!!!!!!!! Look at this!!!!!!! You minx….actually, what is the plural of minx? Minxes? Minxies?’

‘I’m ready! Hit me! *takes breath*’

Robin sent on the image of Ilsa with Tom and added the message, ‘wait for mine!’ and then sent on her own selfie…..which both ladies had agreed was the money shot – the lighting was perfect and he had crinkle eyes…..everyone loves Tom’s crinkle eyes!

Both Robin and Ilsa were giggling and slapping each other’s thighs as the responses came back, each one showing the other or reading aloud the message and trying as best as they could to convey the variety of punctuation, upper case letters and somewhat invented language in the replies.  
Robin actually creased over and banged the wall when the next reply from Vee came through, she laughed and rocked until tears fell down her cheeks, unable to relate the message or hold the phone steady enough to show Ilsa for some time.  
When she actually composed herself enough to exhale and make a 'whoooo' sound, she flashed the screen over to Ilsa who took over the same selection of wailing laughter, stamping of feet and thumping of fists on the floor, walls and table.

‘THERE ARE NOT EBOUGJ EXVLAMAYION MARKS IN THE WORLD’

Was the quite perfectly appropriate response from their Canadian friend!

Their friend Jules had now replied, although her first message was almost spooky – she swore that literally her screen had frozen when the image came through!!! 

Comments such as :  
“I CAN’T EVEN…..’  
‘That is just precious!’  
‘Oh my golly goodness!!!’  
‘I, I – I just…’  
‘He’s smiling already, it’s too cute and sexy at the same time!’

Were intermingled with a ridiculous number of variations on the spelling of the wonderfully adjectival exclamation of SQUEEEEEEEEEE!

This almost ‘ping-pong’ of phones, messages and generally enjoyment continued as the wine bottle emptied, plus a small bag of sesame coated nuts which Ilsa had brought with them and chunks of the creamy chocolate they’d bought.  
Ilsa waggled the empty bottle and got up whilst Robin continued to scroll through her phone; she swapped the empty bottle for the prosecco which she’d stashed in their own mini-bar fridge and made light work of popping the cork.

At one point Robin regarded her phone and tilted her head rather sweetly before passing the screen to Ilsa, a pouty lipped, emotional expression on her face :  
“Is it possible to miss people you’ve never actually met? Robs and Ilsa are together this very moment and I find myself wishing I was with them.”

Ilsa mimicked Robin’s face, “Oh!!! That is so sweet…..and true…..and lovely!”  
So, they squished themselves together and sent a selfie with their glasses of fizz raised to their online pals who were very much with them, and making their incredible trip all the more joyful by just sharing in the fun.

“I still don’t think I actually believe what we’ve done!” Ilsa stated, shaking her head and flicking back through her pictures.  
Robin nodded, she paused on the one of Ilsa and Tom with her grandad’s book, “Look! That’s you! You did that….and look how close you were to him!”  
Ilsa sighed and scrutinized the image closer, “Do you know, I honestly can’t remember being there beside him, but now that I look at the image I can remember what his jacket felt like….it was really soft. Jesus, if I’d tilted my head I could have fucking licked that beard!”

Robin sighed and pouted as she drained her glass of prosecco and held out the glass for a refill, “It’s odd that the beard thing does it for you as well…I mean Nick’s clean shaven…..Whereas you know….the beard thing…..”  
Ilsa giggled and waggled her finger at Robin, “…Yeah, Corm does do the beard thing well…..bet you’d lean in and lick that given half the chance wouldn’t you, you wench!”

“Oh Ils!!! What am I going to do? He’s going to be next door….the last time we shared adjoining hotel rooms I almost caved and….well, did something stupid!”  
Ilsa grinned at her friend, “I don’t know why you think it’s so stupid…..you two are great together…..and I bet you’d be wowzers together if you know what I mean!!” she gave a throaty snigger and set Robin off laughing as she slapped out at her thigh, almost knocking the prosecco bottle over but somehow managing to grab the neck and prevent spillage.

The flurry of messages had now drifted into more intelligent questions and comments regarding the interior of the theatre, the scenery and lighting effects and of course the fact that the two ladies were being so wonderful by sharing all the details – theatre reviews were all well and good but tended to focus on the mundane elements – didn’t these people know that the colour of Tom’s socks and the title of the book on the bed was of far more significance to true fans!?!

“So, that book, Baudelaire…..I’ve Googled it….turns out it has some kinky, banned French poems! Hmmmm, Rosmer’s bedtime reading as selected by Tom…..porny French poems!”  
Robin giggled as Ilsa regarded her phone, “Is it just the title, the flowers of evil? Cos he went a bit mad lobbing them all around rather deliciously didn’t he?” 

Ilsa nodded along but raised a finger to signify new information, “OR…..it could be that one of the poems in it is called Death of the Lovers…..OR, it could be that The Swan is one of the poems….it seems to have a lot of elements in common with the themes of the play.”  
Robin puffed out her cheeks as she downed the last of her prosecco and stifled a burp, “Bet Baudelaire is the kind of stuff that Cormoran has read……that and the Catullus stuff….they’re all kinky and foreign!”

Ilsa smirked as she wrinkled her nose due to the empty prosecco bottle beside her, “Cormoran is an enigma babes……”  
“….dark and gooey!” sniggered Robin thinking back to their badly behaved box shenanigans.  
“Robin, we’ve run out of booze love!” Ilsa pouted from the bed.

Robin hoisted herself off her chair a little shakily, “Nope…I’ve got more. Where’s my room card thingy?”  
The pair began somewhat ineffectively trawling the room, including the bathroom even though she hadn’t been in there!

“Bugger!”

“We could go down to the desk thing, it’s open 24 hours,” Ilsa suggested.  
Robin however shook her head and made her way across to the open window, “I left my window open……I’ll crawl along!”

Ilsa regarded her with an open mouth, “Robs?! You were the one saying that the bloody balcony wasn’t safe earlier on, and now you’re planning on crawling along it? And you’re a bit drunk love…..are you sure?”

Robin however was already dragging aside the voile curtains and shuffling out onto the narrow concrete, which was liberally covered with flecks of dusty, brown leaves and dandelion seeds.  
Hunched on all fours she twisted and pulled a face at Ilsa, “Ohhhhh, it smells of Cormoran’s cigarettes,” she gave a small barking sound and dragged her hands up in the manner of a panting dog before she began wriggling her way along the balcony, focusing on staring straight ahead to the end cast iron railings which marked her own room.  
Ilsa stared out of the window after her, she seemed fine, there were railings either side…..she’d use the opportunity to have a wee while she waited for her to come back…..she’d obviously pick up the key and come back via the door!

 

Robin collected the bottle of wine she’d brought along as a back up, changed her now slightly grubby jumpsuit for a pair of pyjama shorts in a rather striking shade of turquoise blue and a matching t shirt, making that sound only another woman who is removing her bra can truly appreciate, and picked up the cardboard carrier thing which she assumed contained her keycard, shoved that between her teeth and began shuffling back along the balcony moving the bottle of wine along in front of herself like a carrot infront of a donkey.  
She was about halfway when she realized she could have used the door instead, and uttered her familiar expletive, “Bugger!” just as she passed the window to Cormoran’s room.  
She inhaled the scent of tobacco again and dimly realized that there appeared to be a light on inside.  
Ilsa must have heard her utterance because she appeared leaning out of the window, “Why the hell didn’t you use the frigging door?”  
Robin giggled somewhat hysterically before removing the card envelope from her mouth and slapping her hand resoundingly on the wooden window frame, “I dooooon’t knooow? I’m blaming the fact that I got side-tracked with Corm smell….which may or may not have had an effect on the state of the pants I took off!” she squealed, shaking as she laughed, still balanced on all fours and passing the wine to Ilsa who took it inside to open rather than remain with her ridiculous friend.

“You really wanted Corm to take ‘em off though!” Ilsa shrieked, “And I want my Nicky inside mine!”

“Ehem!” came the deep, resonant voice behind her and Robin twisted around, open-mouthed, staring directly into the slightly narrowed gaze of Strike, whose eyes seemed unable to decide on whether to focus on her deliciously ruffled hair, pouting mouth or perfectly poised backside in what could only be described as a slightly obscene pair of shorts!  
“Oh!” Robin stifled a giggle as she waggled the card envelope in her fingers, “Hello Corm’rn….[hic].”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The balcony.](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/185490907515/photos-for-touched-by-tom-chapter-6-the)


	7. Mate, it’s fucking dark...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we are moving totally into the fic part of the fic now :)

On the table outside the pub, Nick’s phone pinged. He picked it up.

“They’re heading back to the hotel,” he said. “Actually, looks like that’s taken a while to come through. Maybe they’re back.” He peered at it. “She’s sent me a selfie. That’s the same guy, isn’t it? They went to the same play again!”

Strike took the phone from him, and compared the picture to his own that Robin had sent him earlier.

“Hm,” he said. “Yeah, look. He’s wearing a scarf in Ilsa’s, and he’s not in Robin’s. And...” He turned Nick’s phone sideways, squinting at it. “I think he’s carrying a different book. I deduce that those pictures were taken at different times!”

Nick chortled. Strike glared. “What?”

Nick grinned. “Just admiring your amazing detective skills,” he said drily. “Mate, it’s fucking dark on that one!”

Strike barked a laugh and passed Nick his phone back. “I stand by my detective skills,” he said with mock dignity.

“Your detective skills are about as good as your standing skills after a day on the pints!” Nick retorted, and Strike laughed.

This last pub was only just around the corner from the hotel. They’d passed a pleasant end to their evening with a guy from Liverpool who was down visiting his mum with his wife and children and had sneaked out for a cheeky pint. They’d asked if they could share his table outside so that Strike could smoke, and a pleasant conversation about the merits of their various football teams and next season’s prospects had ensued.

Nick plonked his empty glass down on the table. “Time I was getting back to my wife,” he said firmly. “Come on.”

Strike winked, drained his pint and stood. They bid their temporary friend good night, and strolled slowly to the hotel, Strike smoking as they went.

They went in and climbed the stairs to the corridor leading to their three rooms. Nick was just about to open the door to his and Ilsa’s when they heard the unmistakable pop of a Prosecco cork.

Nick’s eyes lit up gleefully. “Oh, mate, she’s on the Prosecco. I’m getting sooooooo lucky tonight!” He giggled and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Need to give her time to drink it, though!”

Strike laughed. “You two,” he said fondly. “Come on, I’ve got some whisky in my room. Come for a nightcap.”

“Why on earth did you bring whisky?”

“I figured there was a good chance I’d be left with you two banging away in your room and Robin having taken herself off to bed. I brought a few shots and a good book!”

Strike opened the door to his own room and they went in.

“Christ, it’s hot in here,” Strike grumbled, and opened the big sash window wide. He found the whisky, and they took the wrappers off the tumbler glasses and poured a measure into each.

“Cheers,” Strike said, grinning. “Here’s to you and your hopefully very _quiet_ night with your wife.”

Nick grinned. “I’m making no promises.”

Strike shook his head and stepped out onto the balcony, ducking through the sash window, fishing in his pockets for his cigarettes. He lit one and smoked and gazed out over the little square the hotel faced onto. The evening was quiet now, just the odd couple strolling past chatting, the occasional car. He listened fondly to the giggling and chat that he could hear from the open window to the room next door. He poked his head back into the room.

“Come and listen to this, mate,” he said. “Is this what squeeing sounds like?”

Nick came and leaned out onto the balcony and listened, just as Ilsa’s voice carried to them clearly. “Corm does do the beard thing well.....bet you’d lean in and lick that given half the chance wouldn’t you, you wench!”

Nick raised his eyebrows and glanced up at his friend. Before Strike could even work out what an appropriate facial expression would be, Robin answered. “Oh Ils!!! What am I going to do? He’s going to be next door….the last time we shared adjoining hotel rooms I almost caved and….well, did something stupid!”

Strike and Nick froze, looking at one another. A sudden surge of hope and adrenaline ran though the burly detective, and a goofy smile crept across his face.

Nick grinned. “I thought eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves,” he murmured, and ducked back into the room. “Maybe I’m not the only one who’s getting lucky tonight!”

Thinking hard, his heart full of hope suddenly, Strike finished his cigarette and flicked it down into the gutter below. He, too, ducked back into the room. “Right,” he said. “Um... think I should go say something?”

Nick laughed. “I think it’s pretty clear you’re on a promise, if you want to be.”

“Christ, mate, of course I want to be! I don’t want her to be too drunk, though, that doesn’t seem appropriate.” A small flutter of sudden panic was taking residence in Strike’s chest. Would she mind smoky breath? Indeed, beery breath. He wondered if he had any mints.

Nick laughed. “So we need to wait long enough for Ilsa to have had at least some Prosecco, but not so long that Robin’s had too much?”

Strike shook his head. “Wonder if that window exists! I’m going for a slash, you work out the timings.” He disappeared into the little bathroom at the back of the room.

Nick swirled the whisky in his glass, admiring the amber colour and contemplating their evening, both the evening they’d had and were about to have, with satisfaction. He’d had a pretty good idea when he suggested joining this trip that it would make for a memorable night with his wife, and was delighted that it seemed his old friend was finally going to connect with Robin as he and Ilsa had discussed and hoped for for so long.

In the privacy of the bathroom, Strike flushed the toilet and stared at his own surly profile in the mirror as he washed his hands, hands that were shaking a little. Excitement fizzed in his veins. Could Robin really feel the same way about him as he felt about her?

 _Don’t fuck this up,_ he thought. He decided to brush his teeth.

Nick sat in the easy chair in the bedroom, his back to the window and his long legs stretched out in front of him, idly swirling his whisky some more and waiting for his friend to reappear.

Strike finally emerged from the bathroom and stood, staring past Nick at the open window, blinking. Nick peered up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“I think I just saw Robin’s arse go past the window.”

Nick stared at his old friend, then glanced over his shoulder at the view out to the square. “How many pints have you had? Why on earth would Robin’s arse go past the window? And how would you know it’s her arse?”

“Oh, trust me, mate, I’d know that arse anywhere,” Strike said dreamily. “I swear, I’m not imagining it.”

Nick shook his head. “I think you might be.”

“No, wait. Watch. I bet you. They’ve gone quiet, listen.”

Nick hauled himself out of the chair, and the two men stood, watching the window. Sure enough, after a few minutes, a bottle of wine appeared on the balcony outside the window, and right behind it, Robin, pushing it in front of her.

“Why is she crawling?” Nick muttered.

“Shh!” Strike whispered.

Robin crawled slowly into view, pushing the wine, a piece of card in her mouth, concentrating fiercely on her task. Strike struggled not to laugh at her expression. She was wearing a turquoise blue T-shirt that he didn’t remember having seen before. It perfectly complemented her red-gold hair that swung back and forth as she shuffled along. She paused for a moment as if realising something, and they clearly heard her mutter, “Bugger!” Strike had to suppress a snort, then a whimper as her back half came into view. She was wearing tiny shortie pyjama shorts to match the T-shirt, and her bottom wiggled delightfully as she crawled along.

Even Nick’s jaw dropped a little. Mesmerised, the men drifted across to the window as Robin disappeared, and two heads, one dark and curly, one sandy blond, popped out of the window to regard the glorious view as the turquoise-clad bottom, with the shorts riding high, moved away from them along the balcony.

“Told you,” Strike muttered.

“Fair enough, mate,” Nick murmured back. “I can see how you’d remember that arse.”

“Watch out!” Strike hissed.

Ilsa had stuck her head out of the window. The men ducked back inside, but they heard her ask Robin, “Why the hell didn’t you use the frigging door?”

And they clearly heard Robin’s answering giggle. “I dooooon’t knooow? I’m blaming the fact that I got side-tracked with Corm smell….which may or may not have had an effect on the state of the pants I took off!”

The men grinned at each other again, Strike looking more than a little smug and Nick laughing and nudging him with his elbow.

Ilsa’s next utterance reached them as well. “You really wanted Corm to take ‘em off though!” she shrieked, “And I want my Nicky inside mine!”

Nick put his glass down firmly on the counter by the little sink. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m declaring whisky time over. Need to make our move, Oggy!”

Strike nodded in agreement. “Quite definitely - before Robin gets that wine open!”

Nick vanished though the door to the corridor, clutching his key card, a gleam in his eye, and Strike stepped back out onto the balcony and leaned over the dividing rail Robin had just crawled under.

“Ehem!”

 


	8. You don't need legs.....you just need knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Robin and Cormoran...... the rating has changed.....I am saying nothing more!  
> Lovely times ahead for our 'work colleagues' wink, wink!  
> The 'Oh coooome ooooon' by the way is pronounced exactly how Holliday says it in the pub when Corm is pissed in Cuckoo and he says he doesn't feel like eating!

“Should I ask why you’re crawling along the balcony with a bottle of white wine?” came Cormoran's deep voice from his open window.  
Robin waggled the card envelope thing in her hand slightly towards him but otherwise remained perched on all fours infront of Ilsa and Nick’s open sash window.  
“I left my door key card thing in my room and we ran out of booze,” she stated as if that was explanation enough.  
“Yeah….but, why are you crawling along the balcony to get back? Why didn’t you just use the door?” he smirked, trying and mostly succeeding in keeping his eyes on the pools of grey staring back at him rather than the delectable curve of her bottom.

Robin huffed slightly, “Well, I realized that when I was about halfway….no way of turning around is there?!” and she gesticulated around, wincing as she looked inside the room.  
Nick had arrived via the door and he and Ilsa appeared to be wasting no time virtually eating each other’s faces and groaning as they bumped against various walls, items of furniture and eventually settled with Nick’s buttocks resting on a sideboard and Ilsa nestled between his open thighs.

“I suppose not! You going back in there then?”

Robin grimaced as she saw Ilsa’s vest top being flung towards her.  
She hastily shuffled around on her knees as Strike giggled at her continual muttering of “Bloody hell fire….let me at least avert my eyes!” 

Cormoran could now hear a lot of muffled groaning and some items of furniture being thumped and banged as the married couple clearly got into their swing which distracted him slightly from the sight of Robin making her way back along the balcony on her hands and knees, this time without the bottle to encumber her.  
“Get in here and you can use my door,” he suggested, and he squatted down, not feeling the inevitable twinge in his knee as the position of him to Robin meant he had a clear, unrestricted view down the front of her v necked top as she looked up at him.  
“Well I would only I haven’t actually got the bloody key…..I’ve only got the cardboard holder thingy it was in….the ruddy thing must still be in there!” and she indicated her own open sash window.

Strike couldn’t help but laugh at her ineptitude, “Ellacott! You are one of the most capable people I know….how come you’ve gone so ditsy all of a sudden? It’s not being in the proximity of Tom Hiddleston is it? Are you gonna be fucking useless in the office after this?” and he gave her one of his almost heart stopping, crinkle eyed, soft mouthed grins.  
Robin found herself momentarily lost in his mischievous green eyes but dragged herself back to the present with a, “What?”  
“I rest my fucking case!” he shook his head and then winced as a particularly loud grunt came from the adjoining room, followed by the unmistakable creak of a bed and Nick’s deep, throaty chuckle.

Robin pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows at the sounds and realized she was almost eye to eye with Cormoran thanks to his position in the window.  
“You’ll never get any sleep in here!” she pointed out.  
He nodded fractionally, “Probably not.”  
“I’ve got a secret stash of Hobnobs,” she stated, quirking an eyebrow as she saw Cormoran’s eyes glaze over slightly.  
“Chocolate?”  
“Of course!”  
“You know exactly how to lure a man in Ellacott…..although you still don’t have a fucking door key!”  
“Oh commme ooonnnnn!” she trilled seductively, wriggling a little further past his window towards her own and glancing over her shoulder at him. “You’ve been out on here smoking, you know it’s safe…..just get your arse out here and crouch!”  
“It’s not my arse I’m worried about…..you seem to be forgetting that I’m missing a leg!”  
“You don’t need legs….you just need knees you twat. Come on!” she threw back over her shoulder as she wriggled further along.

Cormoran was now at almost eye level with the scantily clad backside of his work colleague, who was clearly a little on the squiffy side, but not totally drunk….and she was definitely flirting a bit…..and promising him hobnobs……surely that was a bit of a flirty come on?

She paused a little further ahead of him as another loud shout and what sounded like a lamp being knocked over emanated from the Herbert’s open window together with Nick apparently calling Ilsa his ‘Naughty Wife!’  
“Are you coming?” Robin stated, clasping her lower lip between her teeth and added, “Please….keep me company.”

Cormoran mumbled almost beneath his breath, “Fuuuuck!” and mentally punched himself at the knowledge that his cock was basically acting like a compass pointing him in the direction it wanted him to go.  
He’d follow her arse anywhere!  
And a frustrating part of him thought that maybe she knew that…..and was potentially a hell of a lot more in control right now than he was.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he tweaked his neck and almost threw his jacket back into his room, but thought better of it (knowing what he kept in the inside pocket…..and he wasn’t crawling across a balcony twice in one night with a raging erection!)

He squirmed down onto his belly, using his shoulders and upper arms to worm his way along after her, the way he’d done under cargo nets in many a muddy army training exercise.  
Robin giggled and glanced over her shoulder, stifling a small sob at the sight of Cormoran, who was smirking wolfishly as he followed after her, shaking his head, “Keep going woman….I am in serious need of a Hobnob now!”

A couple walked along the pavement infront of the hotel and glanced up, puzzled.  
“Evening!” Strike nodded, pausing only briefly in his squirming journey as Robin blatantly failed in stifling her giggle at his matter-of-fact response to the bemused pair.  
Heaven knows what they thought was going on!

She reached her own open window and bent her legs and shoulders through, standing up and unhitching her shorts from her bottom as she wiped dust, bits of leaf and Lord knows what from her calves as Cormoran slithered into view and realized his predicament compared to hers.  
He couldn’t really bend himself in through the open window as his long legs were stuck out behind him, and still nowhere near the sash window.  
“Bugger!” he exclaimed, stealing her favourite expletive as he pouted like a pug and glanced back at his body and the window opening. “I’m too big to fit!”

Robin found herself mentally adding, “I’ll give you a try” but bit her cheek to stop herself.  
Instead she grasped hold of his outstretched right arm and yanked at him as he managed to almost ‘front crawl’ himself over the window ledge and into the room.  
There was an almighty clang as his prosthetic hit the railings, which caused Robin to slip backwards and collapse on the rug as he slithered his way completely into the room.  
“Bloody good job it’s metal or you’d have a hell of a bruise in the morning!” she giggled, as they wheezed and laughed manically together, Strike’s shoulders shaking as he regarded their somewhat unorthodox, splayed position on the floor of Robin’s room.

Strike considered their predicament, and also how he was feeling.  
This should feel awkward….it should be causing him to tackle all manner of feelings associated with the barriers he’d put up between them……but he wasn’t.  
Robin made him laugh, she made him feel happy….she had an almost carefree spirit to her that was so refreshing….and given everything she’d been through in life she maintained her joyful demeanour.

Robin shuffled herself up off the floor and stepped across his splayed body en route to the sideboard at the end of the bed.  
She flopped herself full length across the double bed on her stomach,  
“A promise is a promise!” she grinned, waggling an open packet of chocolate biscuits towards him with an inviting smile.

Cormoran hauled himself up slightly, using the side of the bed as leverage, “You started them without me! How dare you!” but he swiped up two of the biscuits as he crawled across the bed, collapsing facing the opposite direction to Robin.  
The biscuits disappeared with his usual alarming pace, although he slightly cursed that fact that he’d gone to the trouble of cleaning his teeth only to ruin the minty freshness with biscuit.  
She nibbled one biscuit with more restraint, carefully regarding his long, languid body sprawled out beside her. 

Weirdly it felt no different to when they were munching on biscuits in the office, although she discovered that she could bend her knee and graze the side of his forearm with her bare foot.

She rolled sideways and propped herself up on her elbow, licking the remnants of chocolate from her finger tips and meeting his intense gaze once more.  
“You are ridiculously beautiful,” he found himself saying huskily, his finger tips reached out to gently trail the tendrils of honey-gold hair from her cheek, brushing against her slightly damp, flushed cheek.  
Robin felt the warmth move from her neck up to her cheeks; and it wasn’t simply because of the exertion of getting him through her window….and unlike when she’d been this close to Tom Hiddleston earlier, she was very much aware of what she was doing….and how she was feeling…..and despite all her previous concerns and worries, this felt right.

“You’re drunk,” she whispered, but kept her eyes fixed on what was becoming a darkly dilated and incredibly erotic glare between them.  
He shook his head, “M’not,” he whispered back, “….and you’re not either.”

“Is this a good idea?” 

“Probably not…..but crawling along a balcony at this time of night probably wasn’t the best idea either…..but it seems to have brought us here…..and this…..well, it’s seeming like a less stupid idea by the second.”

Robin inhaled deeply and squirmed slightly towards him on the bed, reaching out her left hand to rest above his own, which was now resting on the top of the bed cover.

“Come ‘ere,” he murmured huskily, slightly tugging on her hand to bring their ‘ying and yang’ curved bodies towards each other.  
Their lips finally found each other’s in a sweet, but intense meeting.  
Robin tasted a slight undercurrent of toothpaste mixed in with the flavour that was indescribably ‘Cormoran’ as she parted her mouth and slid her tongue into the wet, welcoming warmth of his.

Cormoran stifled his throaty groan as she explored his mouth with her soft, purposeful tongue.  
He’d thought she might be hesitant, but she was clearly seeking out every sensation her mouth could cope with…..and it was fucking wonderful.

Both assumed it was the other who finally brought the kiss to an end, their hands had remained steadfastly clasped on the bedcovers throughout, only their lips, tongues, and in Strike’s case, stubble had connected.

Robin gave an incredibly sexy sigh as she inhaled and lowered her eyes before seeking out his green eyed gaze again.

“Yeah…..completely daft idea!” he smirked, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles of her small hand resting on his.  
“I suppose anything else would be equally crazy….right?” she lazily trailed her fingers across his forearm and dropped her head back onto the bedspread, peering up at him with what he could only possibly describe as ‘fuck me’ eyes.

Strike’s hand reached out to connect with the small piece of fabric at the side of her pyjama shorts across her hip. The weight of it there felt reassuring to Robin and intensely sexy in a way that defied explanation – it was just his hand!  
Maybe it was the way he was nonchalantly resting the ball of his palm there whilst curling his fingers in to graze lazy patterns with his nails against a tantalizing section of her skin.

Cormoran had not just let his guard down, he’d let it fly straight out of the window!  
His hand had been dragged of it’s own accord to rest where it currently was, and he was in no hurry……if this was all he got….just this with Robin was so much better than all the everything else he’d had with others.

He listened as her breathing became steady and regular, her fingers on his arm stilled and within a few minutes he lifted his face to find her eyelids closed and a look of complete relaxation on her face.

“God you’re beautiful,” he whispered, reaching up to kiss her chin tenderly before settling himself beside her.  
His prosthetic was still attached, but it wasn’t a priority….plus his legs were hitched up on the bed taking the pressure off it, and he was bound to wake up needing a pee later….he’d deal with it then.  
Right now his Robin had curled up asleep next to him whilst stroking his arm….and they’d kissed….a proper kiss, not an accidental one surrounded by sunlight and stocks. 

He breathed deeply, the intoxicating aroma of her perfume, mixed with a slight muskiness based on his proximity to her hips. 

They slept.

%%%%%  
SMUT FEST STARTS HERE IF YOU'RE INTERESTED!!!  
%%%%%

Robin woke up after about twenty minutes, the draught from the open window had suddenly informed her brain of a sensation of coolness.  
Lifting her head a little she heard the rumbling, regular rhythm of Cormoran’s breathing beside her and smiled in recognition that she was almost face to face with his knees.  
His face looked soft and happy and ridiculously comforting slightly scrunched on the bedspread by her bare calves.

She reached out and stroked her fingertips across his large, relaxed hand, smiling at the slight flicker behind his closed eyelids.  
Feeling braver, and quite frankly hornier, she wriggled a little closer to him and stroked her flat palm against the muscular skin of his thigh beneath the slightly wrinkled fabric of his taupe coloured trousers, she nuzzled her face closer to his chin, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her soft skin and the faint aroma of his aftershave still evident under his chin towards his ear.

He shifted position slightly on the bed and released a long, throaty exhalation as well as a mumbled declaration that sounded very much like, “’not waking up…. gonna be dreamin again.”

Robin grasped her lips between her teeth and began to nuzzle her face further down the front of his shirt – his position adjustment meant that more of his torso was visible now and not so curled over.  
She inhaled deeply and couldn’t stop the tip of her tongue finding a teasing gap between the buttons of his blue shirt.  
Her hand was continuing it’s exploration of his thigh, venturing back to cup and flex against his perfectly sculpted arse. Her other hand was now helping to unfasten further buttons, revealing a broad, darkly furred expanse of masculine chest to her desperate eyes and mouth. 

She knew she was clenching her legs together; rocking gently, trying to quench some of the overwhelming desire and heat between her thighs.  
She knew she was wet, and she also knew that bad idea or not she wanted a lot more out of the evening than a fucking autograph and selfie from Tom Hiddleston!  
This was as long as Cormoran wasn’t truly drunk……he’d been in various pubs all day and evening, and she had smelled whisky on his breath earlier on……maybe he wouldn’t be able to…….  
…..only one way to find out!

She squirmed closer still and allowed the hand that was caressing his backside to move purposefully around to the crease of his thighs, pressing gently but firmly and finding the best possible answer.

So side tracked was she that she neglected to notice that Strike’s eyes had flown wide open….he could sleep in most places and whilst most activities went on around him, but even he wasn’t immune to a firm hand on his cock.  
“Terrible idea!” he whispered sexily, moving both hands around her slim waist and neither pushing her away nor forcing her closer.

Robin jumped slightly at his voice, but smiled and waggled her eyebrows as she continued to rub against the stiffness in his trousers. “I’ve done stupider things!” she purred, bringing her mouth back to his, this time in a passionate and firm signal of her desire and intent.

Strike allowed his hands to swarm up her back, under the loose fabric of her t shirt, glorying in the softness of her back, and gently moving his thumbs to trace the rounded weight of her breasts as their mouths continued to urge each other on.  
Robin’s hands splayed through his hair, dragging his mouth to hers, and he clasped her firmly to hoist them both up off the bed slightly.  
Her thigh straddled across him and they shared a mutual sob as her core rubbed against his solidity.

“Fuck, Robin…….tell me you want this,” he hissed, almost unable to speak as she ground herself against him, kissing his mouth like her life depended upon his CO2 for it’s survival.

She pulled her mouth away fractionally, biting and tugging on his bottom lip as she rocked back, stabilizing his face between her hands. She met his darkly intense expression with eyes blown wide with arousal.  
“Cormoran, I want you….I’ve wanted this for so long…..I want everything with you,” she panted, hardly finishing the statements before she found herself flipped dexterously around and laid tenderly against the pillows.  
“Then let me do this right,” he growled before removing his jacket quickly and placing it within reach of the bed. 

He lay on his side and caressed her shoulder, trailing his strong fingers along the length of her slender arm, toying with her slightly damp palm when he reached it, bending to kiss her eyelids, nose, cheeks and finally suck languidly on the join of her neck and shoulders.  
Robin squirmed beside him; she wanted to squeeze her thighs together for relief, but also wanted to let him find her, and the way he was focusing so completely on every miniscule graze of his fingers and tongue was sending her body into arousal overload.

She heard herself release a pent up moan as his palm travelled along the bare skin of her thigh and began to travel back up, his thumb perilously close to where she desperately wanted it.  
He was in no rush though.  
This was something Cormoran had fantasised about for too long to mess it up….he intended to savour every second and the feel of Robin’s skin under his fingers, combined with the sight of her almost desperately urging him on was like being high.

He removed his hands momentarily so that he could hastily pull off and toss aside his shirt, he gave a slightly smug grin as Robin’s eyes clouded over and took in the broadness of his chest, her hands reaching out to grasp at him, locating his small, hard nipples hidden within the hair covering him.  
It was his turn to moan as she flicked across them several times with her small nails.

“More,” she sobbed as he clasped one strong arm under her arched back and pulled her up towards his mouth again; this time her own hands took responsibility for her pleasure and located the belt of his trousers, quickly unbuckling it and dealing with the fastening and his flies as they continued to kiss, Strike’s free hand now smoothing up beneath her t shirt and carefully cupping the weight of her breast.

“I need to deal with my leg,” he stated calmly as her hands dragged his trousers down his hips and thighs, his erection barely concealed beneath his blue, checked boxer shorts.  
Robin reluctantly pulled her hands away but nodded and gave him enough space to sit up, remove his trousers fully and dispatch his prosthesis, leaving it leaning against the bedside table. 

He turned around and bent his right leg at the knee, his stump fitting against his left thigh as he resumed his fingertip exploration of Robin’s long limbs.  
He discovered that behind her right knee was ticklish, but that he could make her forget to giggle if he sucked on the spot instead.  
He discovered that she had remarkably flexible hips and could extend her leg almost fully back against her shoulder if he applied a little pressure; and that if he did that whilst sucking behind her knee….well, she made a noise that he would never, ever get tired of hearing!

Robin couldn’t believe how Cormoran was making her feel given that the pair of them were still partially clothed. And he really wasn’t in a rush despite the fact that she could see he was rock solid under his pants.

Allowing her leg to fall back down he toyed with the hem of her pyjama top and shorts, “Me first or you first?” he murmured, pressing soft kisses along her knuckles.  
“I want to see you,” she seductively purred, whilst dragging her top over her head.

Cormoran was quite thankful that she wanted him to remove his underwear, because the sight of her exquisite breasts in the dim light of the room was making his already raging erection press almost painfully against the elastic of his boxers.  
He shifted his hips slightly and dragged them off, kicking them free of his ankle and lying confidently bedside her, allowing her eyes to complete their almost memorizing gaze of his body.

God he was sexy!

And fucking hard!

And fucking impressive!

Robin had a sudden desire to drop her head and kiss him, so she did.  
Her lips moved quickly, but purposefully against his cock and he couldn’t prevent the short exclamation that her action caused.  
On her way back up his body she purposefully arched her shoulders and back, pushing her still covered buttocks back and allowing his rigid cock to slide between the cushioned bliss of her exposed breasts.  
Cormoran had wanted to take his time, but fuuucck she was making it hard…..definite pun intended!

He grasped her and pulled her quite commandingly towards him pressing her buttocks with his palm against his hips and feeling her start to grind herself against him. He used his other hand to support her back and nuzzled his face down her chest eventually capturing one of her hard nipples into the warmth of his mouth and sucking on it in a perfect rhythm to the one they were creating with their writhing groins.

“Oh God, Cormroan,” he heard her gasp, her hands fisting into his hair, his hand on her backside digging in roughly but wonderfully, his fingers easily sliding between the cheeks of her arse and travelling down and beneath her.  
He gave a sob to match her own upon finding her silky wetness and gently rubbed some of her juices across the velvety folds under her flimsy shorts.

He kept a firm hold of her and again twisted her to lay her gently onto the bed, he kissed his way down her chest, engulfing her other nipple into his mouth and toying with her bullet hard nipple between his thumb and finger as his other hand moved down to tug at her shorts.  
“Help me,” he almost pleaded and found her hands grappling with her last remaining item of clothing. His own hand brushed across the small, fair thatch now on display for him and he allowed his mouth to kiss down and down her body.

Robin squirmed and laughed a little as she felt his stubble approach her thighs and she couldn’t have closed her legs to him if she’d had a gun pointed at her temple.

Looking seductively serious up at her he carefully cupped his palm against her thigh, easing her wide enough to be able to see her delicate, pink folds and dipped his head to deliver a firm and unhurried lick to her heat.

Robin almost came just at the sensation and he felt her tense against him, but her hand latched behind his neck to initiate more. He nestled his face into her warmth and allowed his tongue to explore her; learning where she struggled to breath, where she tensed up in delight, and when he slid a finger inside her he also discovered what made her shout his name and dig her nails into his back.

Cormoran was in heaven.  
The fact that he was pleasuring Robin so thoroughly, that she was responding to him so openly and with so much passion was beyond his wildest dreams.

He lifted his eyes briefly and felt a jolt through his cock at the sight of her writhing body splayed out before him. He coaxed another finger inside her tightness and stroked up inside her until she almost seemed unable to breathe.  
Her eyes were wide and focused on his as he brought her to the very edge of wherever the fuck she was.

With a sheepish but smug smirk he dipped his head and instantly located her swollen, aching clitoris. The smallest amount of pressure from his talented mouth combined with what he was doing inside her made her shudder and lose all control as she pulsed herself against him and came in one of the most earth shattering orgasms of her life.

Once he had wrung every possible jolt of pleasure from her he crawled himself up beside her, grinning at her ridiculously mussed up hair and pink cheeks and resting blissfully on his elbow so that he could watch her regain some semblance of control.

“Absolutely terrible idea!” he whispered, nuzzling his lips against her cheek and then finding her lips as she licked unashamedly at her own slickness engrained into his beard.  
“The absolute worst,” she giggled up at him before sighing and rubbing her hand against his still solid erection, “Have you got any…?..” she trailed off, circling her hand around him and enjoying the feel of him in her grip, and the sight of him clearly trying to maintain his composure.

“Do you mean have I got any condoms? Yeah,” he panted slightly as her hand began to build up a purposeful rhythm on his already leaking cock.  
“Please tell me I don’t have to crawl along that fucking balcony again,” she moaned, kissing along his shoulder and biting down on the firm curve at the top pf his arm.  
Cormoran hissed in his breath over his teeth, “Jacket….you sure….we can wait?”

Robin ceased her wrist action and regarded him as seriously as she could given that she looked like a slightly exploded version of herself, “We HAVE waited….too fucking long….and whatever combination of alcohol, emotion and Christ knows what has brought us here I’m not wasting it…..so grab your jacket and stay right where you are.”

Cormoran sat up and reached across to the inner pocket of his jacket and removed the three condoms he knew were in there, each still attached to the others with their perforated foil. He detached one and let the others fall to the floor before handing it to Robin – this absolutely HAD to be her decision….he knew that he couldn’t explicitly say that to her without her getting upset, but it mattered to him.

She smiled and took it from him, tearing open the foil and bending to kiss him deeply as she covered him with the smooth, tightly stretched material.  
It felt ridiculously sexy to have done that for him, she had felt him tense as her palm rolled it down over him and saw his eyes close and his head drop back slightly as she maybe spent a couple of extra strokes making sure it was perfectly fitted.

He was lying back against the pillows, she was straddling him and with a few little shifts and squirms she was right there above him, the head of his cock pressing perfectly against her.  
She pulled back slightly and looked directly into his eyes as they pressed together at the same moment.  
Robin swallowed the exhalation from Cormoran as he grew accustomed to the glorious warmth and tightness of her around him, he then swallowed her panted gasp as he moved deeper inside her.

He stilled her with his large hand splayed in the nape of her neck, cradling her skull, pressing his forehead against hers as he tried vainly not to let go completely and ruin this moment of exquisite, never to be repeated perfection that was him and Robin completely together for the first time.

It was Robin who moved first.  
Her hands steadied his wide shoulders as she undulated her hips against him.  
She’d never moved like this before, not with anyone, she’d never taken control of her own pleasure like this before…..that isn’t to say she hadn’t experienced good sex…..she and Matthew had been good together for a while…..but this, this connection with Strike was something different.

They didn’t speak, but nor did they need to.  
Their eyes remained locked together, tongues darting out to mimic the tantalising probing of Strike’s cock within Robin as they built up a rhythm together.  
Strike’s hand pressed Robin and tilted her against him perfectly so that her own pleasure built with his own and they simply smiled as their bodies seemed incapable of agreeing that this was a stupid decision.

When he saw Robin’s neck melt back slightly and felt her start to become more ragged in her movements he gripped her slightly firmer and only then did they speak, each crying out the name of the other in a single, shared declaration of joy.

Robin felt Cormoran’s cock leap fractionally inside her as he pulsed his release, wrapping his strong arms around her and engulfing her in his warmth and masculine scent as he pulled her to his thrusting hips before grazing his nose against the sheen of sweat on her cheek.

They were both completely satiated and limp in each others’ arms, their breathing sounding ridiculously loud in the dark room.

“You OK?” he gasped, nudging her again with his nose as he tried to get his eyes to focus again.  
He’d never in his wildest fantasies imagined that it would be like this with Robin…..shit, he’d never in his wildest fantasies imagined it could be like that with anyone!

Robin wriggled slightly, but felt Cormoran pressing her against him, not wanting to break the spell by leaving her just yet.

“That didn’t feel stupid at all,” she grinned, flopping forwards against his almost blanket like chest hair.

Cormoran dragged one hand through his gloriously ruffled hair and draped the other across her bare back. He sniffed deeply, “I’m quite glad you shouted my name though and not that Hiddleston guy’s…..not sure I could have coped with you shouting out Tom at the crucial moment…..might have been a bit weird!”


	9. Is that my arse you’re thinking about or Tom’s?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Lula, the inevitable Herbert smut. That’s all that’s here, feel free to skip if that’s not your thing. Big internal debate about whether or not to post, I know the Nick/Ilsa smut isn’t everyone’s cup of tea :)))

Nick let himself into his and Ilsa’s room, key card in hand. He paused in the doorway, drinking in the delectable sight of his wife’s pyjama-clad backside facing him as she stood by the window, clutching a bottle of wine and giggling at Robin on the balcony. He stepped into the room, and the door swung shut behind him with a clunk.

Ilsa turned, and gave a shriek of delight. She dropped the wine onto the bed and advanced across the room towards him, her eyes sparkling, and Nick took a shuddering breath of delight and anticipation. That was her slightly reckless, slightly wild Prosecco look that he couldn’t help speculating was further fuelled by a certain element of Tomness.

She practically jumped into his arms, kissing him fiercely, and Nick chuckled a little against her mouth as he staggered back against the door. Then she had hold of his shirt and was pulling him, still kissing him hard, back into the room with her, towards the bed. Tipsy, Ilsa ricocheted off the counter a little and their mouths were jostled apart. With a whimper she slid her hands into his hair, pulling his face back to hers.

Desire rose fast as she pressed herself against him, her hands cupping his face now. Dimly aware that Robin was still right there, Nick turned them both, resting his hips against the sideboard and pulling Ilsa with him. She slid between his thighs, pressing close, rubbing against his cock which was hard and ready for her already.

Pleasure pulsed through him. Her hands slid down and found the bottom of his T-shirt, pulling it up.

“Ilsa—” Nick murmured, capturing her hands. She was totally in the moment, blissfully unaware that Robin was still just outside the window, and Nick could hear the rumble of Strike’s voice too.

Impatient, Ilsa pulled back, dragged her own vest top off and flung it away. Naked from the waist up, she pressed herself against him again, and Nick was relieved to see Robin hastily disappear along the balcony.

“The curtains—” he murmured.

Ilsa gave a growl of frustration, her hand slapping at the wall to her left, until she managed to hit the light switch, plunging the room down into dimness lit only by the lamp in the corner. “There,” she muttered against his lips. “Happy?”

Nick grinned, his hands on her arse, pulling her closer between his thighs, grinding her against him, making her groan. “Just trying to protect your modesty. Someone has to,” and he winked at her.

“Don’t care,” she replied, thrusting her hips back at his, thumping the sideboard against the wall. “Get your clothes off, I want you naked.” Her hands wrestled with his belt, her mouth on his neck now, and Nick groaned as she kissed and sucked at his skin, and then slid her hands down the front of his trousers, caressing him though his boxers.

He grinned at her as she eased him free and began to stroke his length. “Are you aiming for this to be over in about ten minutes? Because if not, you’d better slow down.”

Ilsa winked at him. “We have all night. Does it matter if the first time is fast?”

Nick gave a throaty chuckle, and eased her away from him a little so he could bend his head to her bare breast. Ilsa dropped her head back with a groan of pleasure as his mouth closed over her nipple, drawing it in, sucking on her, creating waves of pleasure that had her rocking against him. She backed away gently, pulling him, until the backs of her legs hit the bed and they tumbled down onto it together.

Nick pulled back for a moment, kneeling up to strip his T-shirt off over his head. Grinning, Ilsa sat up too and wrestled his trousers down, grabbing at his arse with both hands and pulling so that he overbalanced and toppled onto her again, thumping the bed against the wall in the process. She giggled and squeezed his backside, humming her appreciation.

Nick growled a little and returned his attention to her breasts. “Is that my arse you’re thinking about or Tom’s?” he muttered, running his mouth across her skin, and Ilsa chuckled again. “Does it matter? You’re reaping the benefits!”

He lifted his head and smiled lazily at her, his eyes cloudy with desire. “Maybe you need reminding you’re mine, if you’ve spent the day perving over some other chap,” he said suggestively, and Ilsa’s twinkled back at him.

“And are you telling me you and Corm didn’t discuss women once? No stories of his past conquests trotted out over the whisky for you both to giggle over?”

“What makes you think it’s always his past conquests we discuss?”

Ilsa half sat up, pushing him down onto the bad and tugging at his trousers that were still round his knees. “So you were discussing yours? Now I want to know all the details.”

Nick grinned, kicking at his trousers, trying to free himself. “Not telling.”

“Bet I could make you.”

“How?”

“By telling you all about my day in such detail that you cave in because you don’t want to hear about some other guy’s peachy arse and lickable beard any more!”

Nick laughed loudly, and kicked his trousers right away. They collided with the lamp which went crashing sideways, hit the wall and went out.

Lit only by the streetlamp on the other side of the road now, he grabbed her and rolled onto her. “Naughty wife,” he growled, and she giggled, pulling him closer. He kissed and kissed her, then drew back to remove her jersey pyjama bottoms, peeling them from sweat-sheened skin, kissing his way down her leg to her ankle as he went. Eventually he pulled them from her completely, dropped them to the floor, and then grinned up at her with intent. He lowered his head to her ankle, nipping at her skin gently, and began to work his way slowly back up.

Ilsa groaned with delight, dropping her head back onto the pillows, opening her legs for him as he worked his way higher. She spread her arms wide, relaxed across the bed, surrendering to him totally.

Nick growled fiercely as he bit gently at her inner thigh just above her knee, making her jump a little and moan. This was the wanton, reckless side of her he loved, the Ilsa who threw all self-consciousness out of the window (along with goodness knows what else this evening) and gave herself over to him. He slowed down, taking his time, tasting every part of her skin. He could smell her arousal, but he wanted to draw this experience out as long as possible.

Ilsa twisted a little, enjoying his touches, licks and sucks on the sensitive skin of her thigh but wanting more, so much more. Her hands slid to her breasts and she caressed herself as he reached her core, slowly kissing nearer. He glanced up at her and their eyes met, love and desire sparking between them. She grinned lazily at him, caressing her nipples, enjoying the way the sight of her touching herself made him groan and rock against the mattress, grinding against it, seeking relief. Then his mouth was against her, his tongue gently stroking across her clit, and her head dropped back with a high moan of pleasure.

He licked and sucked her until her insides were a molten storm of pleasure, her head rocking from side to side on the pillow, and then he abruptly stopped, drawing away, making her cry out at the loss of his touch.

“Nick, please—” she gasped, panting. He grinned at her wickedly.

“Thought I might punish you just a little for lusting after someone else all day,” he murmured. “So good you went twice, eh?”

Ilsa grinned back at him, her eyes glazed with passion. “Yeah, but it’s always you I come home to,” she reminded him, and he grunted, smiling, and lowered his head to her again.

He kissed her everywhere, lifting her bottom with his hands so he could slide his tongue into her, making her gasp and thrust up against him. He explored her folds, kissed her thighs, slowly working his way back to her clit, until Ilsa was rocking against him, her body begging for release, and then he eased away again, gazing up at her fondly.

“Ready?” he murmured.

“God, yes. Please...” she gasped, writhing, aching desperately for him.

He chuckled softly, tying to ignore his own fierce ache at her arousal, pressing his rock-hard erection down onto the bed as he lowered head slowly back to her. He licked her clit, rasping his tongue across her, making her buck up against him and gasp, and then he pressed closer, sucking on her gently and sliding two fingers into her as he did so.

Ilsa arched up off the bed with a cry of delight, pleasure storming her, and as she sank back his fingers withdrew and slid into her again, languid, taking his time, sliding in a rhythm to match his tongue, building her steadily and relentlessly, but unhurriedly, until with a hoarse cry she broke apart, pulsing around him, waves of pleasure rocking her until she collapsed, gasping, and he slowly withdrew.

Smiling softly, Nick crawled up next to his wife and she pulled him into her arms. He hugged her gently, burying his face in her hair and kissing her cheek and the side of her head while she got her breath back and floated back down to earth, grinning.

“You’re amazing.”

“I know.” He chuckled and kissed her cheek.

“Give me a minute.”

“Hey, no hurry. Loads of time. We can sleep a bit if you want.”

She giggled lazily and rocked her hip against his erection, making him shudder. “You could sleep?”

“I could rest,” he said, grinning. He paused, listening.

“What?”

“It’s really quiet next door.”

Ilsa looked at him, puzzled, and for a moment he was taken aback by her beauty. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her pupils blown with pleasure still, her hair messy and her cheeks pink. “Why wouldn’t it be quiet?”

“Oggy heard all that stuff Robin was saying about him. I think he hoped he might get lucky tonight.”

Ilsa’s eyes lit up. “Oh, he definitely would!” she cried softly. “Was he going to say something?”

“I dunno, I got a bit, er, distracted.” Nick grinned, and Ilsa pulled him down into a languid kiss. They kissed and kissed for a minute, and she hummed with satisfaction, rocking against him gently. Nick groaned, unfulfilled desire rising rapidly again, then drew back.

“Hey,” he murmured. “I’m good. Have a nap if you want.”

“I don’t want.”

“You sure?”

“I had half a bottle of Prosecco. I still have some fizz left in me.”

Grinning, Nick kissed her again.

 


	10. Epilogue

Ilsa woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the sounds of morning. Sunlight drenched the bed, cool, fresh air washed over her arm on top of the covers, and she could hear the gentle thwack, thwack of tennis balls being hit on the courts in the little square in front of their hotel. A bird chirped. Traffic pottered past.

She stretched, aching a little, deliciously tired and sated, and rolled to face her husband.

He was leaning up on one elbow, gazing at her fondly. Ilsa grinned, and he smiled back.

“Have you been watching me sleep again? Are you quite sure that’s not creepy?” she asked him, leaning in for a kiss.

He hummed a little and kissed her back. “You just look so beautiful in the morning sun,” he replied.

“Soppy.”

“You love it really.”

“I do. Put the kettle on?”

Nick grinned, kissed her again and rolled out of bed. She lay and watched as he padded naked across to the kettle and filled it at the little sink, set it on its stand and flicked the switch. He came back and climbed back into bed with her, and she wrapped herself around him and hugged him close, laying her head on his chest. The kettle began its slow boil.

“Mm, good night,” Ilsa murmured. Nick chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Wasn’t it just. Think we broke the lamp?”

Ilsa giggled. “Maybe. It went out, anyway. Was that when you threw your trousers at it, or did you kick it when you were down the bottom of the bed?”

“Hah, goodness knows. I wasn’t concentrating on what my feet were doing when I was down there.”

“You certainly weren’t.” Ilsa shivered, remembering, and squeezed him closer. Nick half-rolled to face her, pressing the length of his body to hers, and she looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, as he rocked against her.

“Again, husband? Where do you find the energy?”

“I’ve always got the energy around you, wife.”

Ilsa grinned and pulled him in for a kiss, hooking her leg over his hip, pulling him closer.

They passed a pleasant hour or so while the kettle went cold again, rocking together gently, whispering, exploring, loving one another in stark contrast to last night’s frantic activities. Ilsa gently kissed the teeth marks she’d left on his collarbone. Nick softly stroked across the imprints of his fingers at her hips. They dissolved together slowly, warmed by the morning sun, and then lay in one another’s arms, deeply connected and at peace.

Eventually Ilsa gave him a playful shove. “Put the kettle on?”

Laughing, Nick went to press the switch again. “Come shower with me?”

“I will if it’s just to wash. I really don’t have the energy to go again.” Ilsa stretched luxuriously in the bed.

“It really is. I want to wash your hair.”

Ilsa smiled softly at him and rolled out of bed too. She followed him to the bathroom.

Forty minutes later, after the third boiling of the kettle, they climbed out onto the balcony with coffees to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. Ilsa had left her hair to dry naturally in the breeze. Nick had found two folding chairs in the wardrobe next to the bathroom, and they set them up. They just fitted together on the little balcony.

Ilsa handed Nick her coffee and leaned as far as she could across to Strike’s balcony, peering in though the window. Her husband nudged her with his foot.

“What are you doing, Mrs? Trying to peep into another guy’s room?”

Ilsa grinned and sat back down, taking her coffee. “Just confirming a suspicion. I was in no danger of seeing anything I shouldn’t. His bed’s not been slept in. And no sign of his leg!”

Nick raised his eyebrows, delighted. “You mean...?”

“Well, all I know for sure is he didn’t sleep in his own bed. Either that or he got up super early, made the bed and left!” Ilsa giggled.

“Hey, listen...” Nick held up a hand. From further along the balcony, they heard the deep rumble of Strike’s voice, followed by a higher-pitched giggle from Robin. The Herberts grinned fondly at one another.

There was a pause. Nick and Ilsa held hands, sipped their coffee, idly watched what they could see of the casual tennis match through the trees. All was right with the world.

Presently there was a jolt from Robin’s window, and Strike appeared backwards, shuffling his bottom out onto the balcony to sit. He’d pulled his trousers and shirt on loosely and done up a few buttons. His curly hair was even more riotous than usual, his chest hair visible in the deep V of his shirt, his trouser leg hanging loose where he hadn’t bothered to attach his prosthesis. He gave his friends a slightly coy wave and lit up a cigarette, drawing on it deeply.

Nick and Ilsa waved back, grinning knowingly, but he looked too happy to care. Presently a slender arm appeared, passing him a coffee, followed by Robin’s head. She was wrapped in a towel. She waved to the Herberts too, blushing.

“Morning!” she called self-consciously. “Just, er, heading to the shower.”

Nick and Ilsa raised their coffees in acknowledgement, and Robin ducked back inside, still blushing. Strike took a long gulp of coffee, drew deeply on his cigarette again and leaned his head back on the railings, tilting his face to the sun, his eyes closed, his expression blissed out.

Ilsa’s eyes met Nick’s. They twinkled at one another.

“That feeling you have right now, husband, that absolute delight and happiness that something amazing just happened?” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

“That is a squeee.”

 


End file.
